Night and Day

by Caron Allan

  ‘Perhaps you’d like a pencil and a piece of paper, Sergeant?’ her mother asked in what Dottie and Flora called her Imperial Tone.

  ‘No thank you, Madam.’ He turned back to Dottie. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Well, at first I thought he was drunk, but then I saw that he had some kind of injury; there was blood all over his chest and on the pavement. A-and so I knelt beside him to try to h-help.’

  ‘No wonder your dress was ruined, you silly girl! How many times have I told you to have a little more care of your clothes?’

  ‘Excuse me, Madam. Perhaps I might make use of your dining-room in order to speak with Miss Manderson in private?’

  Her mother stared, whilst her father hid a smirk behind his sherry glass.

  ‘My dear Sergeant, I hardly think...’

  ‘Then please, Madam, it would be a tremendous help if you could keep your comments until the end of the interview; your daughter must be allowed to answer the questions as accurately as possible without any distractions. This is, after all, a murder investigation.’

  Dottie’s mother was torn between taking umbrage and a reluctant admiration for his gall. It was a brave man who called her “Madam” in that tone and got away with it. Her momentary surprise gave Dottie the precious seconds she needed. She hurried on,

  ‘I knelt beside him, and straight away I saw how much blood he was losing, and I ran to my sister’s house—it’s only a few dozen yards from where he was lying—I called for a doctor. I knew it was quite likely that one of Flora and George’s friends would be a doctor, they have so many professional people amongst their acquaintance. Then I ran back to the man—Mr Dunne. I—well—I suppose I didn’t like the thought of him being on his own. I asked him if he could tell me his name, but—but he didn’t. I told him a doctor was on his way. I thought that might be a comfort to him. He—he—clutched my hand.’

  The room was very quiet, apart from the crackle of the fire. Her mother was still looking a little put out, but her father—Dottie had the impression he approved of her actions. She felt as if she had a supporter in the room.

  ‘And did he say anything? Tell you his name, for instance?’

  ‘No. It was George who told me his name—or rather—George told Flora and she told me. Later on, I mean. The man was singing. I mean, he was in evening dress, so I thought perhaps he’d just come from the theatre and had been set upon by thieves. Or—or—something.’ She bit her lip. She felt foolish, ignorant. If only she’d been a little bit more useful, Archie Dunne might still...

  ‘And what was he singing?’

  ‘Oh, a song from that Astaire show. Gay Divorce. It’s called Night and Day. Do you know it?’

  He did, but said only, ‘And how did that go?’

  She looked at him. ‘What—sing it for you?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. It might be helpful.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was blushing again. She hesitated for a moment then rather haltingly began to sing. She felt herself blushing as she sang the rather romantic words. Especially that word Darling. As she came to the end of the line, to the bit where Archie Dunne had halted, she faltered and stopped singing. The clock ticked. No one spoke for a moment. Although her parents were there, she felt quite alone with him. He was watching her with an odd look in his eyes. I bet he thinks I’m a rotten singer, she thought, and looked away, uncomfortable, wishing he would just leave. Aloud, she said, ‘well anyway, I think those are the words. Except he didn’t say the last word of that line, he—er—well—before he could...Um, that’s all he said. And then...’

  ‘He passed away? Very well, thank you, Miss Manderson, you’ve been most helpful.’ He stood up, and reached out his hand to shake hers again, then seemed to think he’d better shake hands with both her parents too. In the doorway he stepped aside to allow Mr Manderson to precede him, and he turned back to Dottie.

  ‘I forgot to ask, you didn’t see anyone hanging around, or running from the scene, or hear anything other than what you’ve already told me? Or did you notice an umbrella lying about?’

  She shook her head, unable to speak. He reminded her about the inquest, then left, and suddenly she felt—full—overfull in some way and she had to get out of the room. Her face felt hot, she felt trembling and weak. She had to get out, and upstairs to her own quiet cool bedroom.

  ‘Seems a bit odd that he’s a policeman. He had a decent education. But being in the police force is hardly a fitting profession for a man of his background, although after what happened to his father...’ her father remarked upon returning to the room. Dottie made a non-committal agreeing sound, she was too tired to listen to any more, although they had to listen as Mrs Manderson gave her views on the subject, rather at length and with a good deal of emphasis on the twin subjects of Good Manners To A Lady and How Things Were Done When I Was A Girl.

  After a couple of minutes Dottie made a point of exclaiming at the time and added, ‘I must have a bath and get to bed, I’m shopping with Flora tomorrow, and she’s picking me up at ten.’

  She said her goodnights and fairly raced up the stairs to lock herself in the bathroom.

  *

  At a public house not too far from the Mandersons’ home, Sergeant Hardy sat with Constable Maple over a beer and talked about the case. Inspector Longden had gone away to a weekend in the country with his wife’s family, and once again, Hardy found himself bearing the brunt of not only the investigation but also the wrath of their superiors, which he felt would have been more properly directed at the inspector rather than himself.

  But Inspector Longden had little interest in crime solving. His main motivation in his work was to raise himself through the ranks of the police force as rapidly as possible in the hopes of achieving a life peerage by the time he was fifty, and thus earning some respect at last from his wife’s family. Quite what happened with regard to the case of the murder of Archie Dunne was of little interest to an inspector who aspired to be a country gentleman. It was a relief to Hardy to get some of his frustration off his chest.

  On his way home, Sergeant Hardy continued to turn over in his mind what he had learned thus far. However, into his thoughts there intruded the pale, beautiful face, the large brown, anxious eyes and the dark wavy hair of a certain young lady. He recalled the scene in her mother’s drawing-room this evening. How brave Miss Manderson had been to try to help the dying man, Hardy thought. And what a pretty voice she had.

  Chapter Four

  The following morning a young policeman ran from the front desk along the hall to call Sergeant Hardy to the phone.

  ‘We have your connection through now, Sir,’ he said, ‘I’ll put it through to old Longden’s office.’ That said, he vanished again almost immediately.

  ‘At last,’ said Hardy to himself, and he hurried after the messenger. When he reached the inspector’s office, he took up the receiver and shortly after that, the call was put through.

  ‘Hardy? That you? What is it you want? I hardly need remind you that I’m very busy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I just wanted to let you know how the investigation is proceeding.’ He went on to lay out for his superior officer the details of Archie Dunne’s murder, and all the information he had thus far accumulated. It took a few minutes. He paused at the end of this long speech, searching through his notebook in case he had missed anything. At the other end of the line, he distinctly heard the sound of a champagne cork popping, and people cheering. It wasn’t even mid-morning.

  ‘Sir?’ he asked, fearful Inspector Longden had actually set down the receiver to go and join a cocktail party.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m still here,’ Longden growled at him, ‘Look, why don’t you get on with some work instead of pestering me with your quibbles. Good God, man, what do you think we pay you for if not to get on with the job?’

  For a few seconds the sergeant said nothing. He reflected that it was a good thing the inspector was far away, as Hardy felt there was a chance he might have forgotten him
self and told Longden precisely what he thought of him. As it was, he managed to sound perfectly polite as he said, ‘I believe you’re returning tomorrow morning, Sir, after your weekend away. Is that correct? May I ask whether you’ll be coming into the station tomorrow, or not until Monday?’

  Longden, clearly both offended and feeling guilty, treated Sergeant Hardy to a stream of invective, punctuated with a few fake-sounding sneezes and snuffles which culminated in the response: ‘as soon as I am well enough to travel I shall return. I trust that meets with your approval, Sergeant! Now get on with your job or I shall report you to the chief superintendent.’

  Hardy’s reply of ‘yes sir,’ was lost on the inspector; he’d already hung up the phone.

  *

  ‘I was thinking we might pop in and condole with Susan Dunne,’ Flora said as soon as Dottie opened the door.

  ‘Hello to you too!’ Dottie kissed her sister on the cheek and turned to let Janet help her on with her coat. They were about to leave, but Flora hesitated.

  ‘Sorry, Darling, do you think I’d better just run in and say hello to Mother?’

  ‘If you don’t, we’ll both be in trouble. We’ll never hear the end of it. By the way, do you think we’ll be dining out?’

  ‘I hadn’t planned to.’

  ‘Blast. Are you sure you can’t dine out?’

  ‘If you want to dine out, you can always tell Mother I pressed you to come back with me. Anyway, you go and get in the car, and I’ll go and see the old...’

  ‘Good morning Florence,’ their mother’s voice boomed from the dim recesses of the hall and made them both jump guiltily, and Flora rolled her eyes and whispered to Dottie, ‘Oh God!’ before hurrying to greet her mother with a bright smile.

  Dottie made good her escape with a quick, ‘Bye Mother,’ and after a conspiratorial grin at Janet, she ran down the steps to the car. It was almost fifteen minutes before Flora returned. Dottie remarked on this fact as Flora slid into the driving seat, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

  ‘Your fastest time ever! You’re getting good at this.’

  ‘Having a husband is excellent training for acquiring the skills to handle one’s mother. It’s such a shame that one has to put up with the latter for twenty-odd years before one finally acquires the former.’ She pressed the self-starter and soon they roared away.

  ‘By the way, I told her you had to come to dinner with us as I had invited a young bachelor vicar especially for you.’

  ‘What! How could you? I thought we were united in this fight?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Just tell her he had bad teeth, you know what she’s like about teeth. Or he could be bald. She hates bald men.’

  ‘I know. Poor Father. But still, Flora, a vicar!’

  ‘So what do you think? Shall we go and see Susan? Would it be too much of an imposition, do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Why do you want to? I mean, it’s not as if we really know her.’

  ‘Oh let’s do it. We don’t need to stay long. As you were with him when he died, you could say he tasked you with delivering a final, death-bed message. Just tell her he wanted her to know he loved her.’

  ‘Really? Flora, I hardly think...’

  ‘If there’s a crowd of people, we won’t stay. If there’s no one, she will doubtless be glad of the company. If all else fails, we could reminisce about Lady Margaret’s.’

  No one else was there.

  When they climbed the tall flight of narrow steps to ring the bell they both felt the neglect of the place. The front door was dusty and its paint was chipped. The house was a large, rambling villa surrounded by an overgrown garden barely held in check by a fence of broken railings. The door was eventually opened by a tall, pale, red-eyed, shabbily-dressed maid.

  The maid led them to a drawing-room facing towards the street, but nevertheless it was a dim, gloomy space. Just before they entered through the doorway, on an impulse, Dottie put her hand on the maid’s arm and in a quiet voice, asked, ‘Are you quite all right? You don’t look at all well.’

  The maid was clearly surprised. She managed a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Ma’am, I’m quite well. Just—you know—it’s been such a...excuse me, Ma’am.’

  ‘Of course,’ Dottie agreed with a sympathetic smile.

  In the drawing-room, a small, slight young woman clad in rusty black came to meet them, a hand outstretched first towards Flora and then to Dottie.

  ‘I remember you both from school, naturally, although you were a year or two above me, Mrs Gascoigne, and you, Miss Manderson were, I believe a year or two below me.’ Susan Dunne had a low, dragging voice, as if it too was suffering from years of neglect.

  ‘That’s right,’ Dottie agreed. ‘I was in the same year as your sister Muriel.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Dunne took a seat on the sofa and invited them to do the same, then she folded her hands before her and looked at them with an air of expectation. ‘Now what can I do for you, ladies?’

  Flora and Dottie exchanged a look. Flora said, ‘Well, I—er—we—that is to say...’

  ‘Ah I see. You came to pay your respects,’ Mrs Dunne said with half a smile. They nodded and waited.

  ‘We are so terribly sorry about poor Archie,’ Dottie added. As soon as she spoke, she knew she’d been too informal. His widow noticeably bridled.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew my husband so very well,’ she said. ‘Excuse me, I’ll just order tea. Or would you prefer coffee?’

  A little bemused by her composure, they agreed tea would be lovely. Mrs Dunne called loudly along the hallway, ‘Tea please, Leonora,’ then came and resumed her seat. She turned an inquiring look on them, indicating she still waited for a response to her previous question.

  ‘We didn’t exactly know him,’ Flora explained. ‘He was an acquaintance of my husband.’

  ‘I thought I knew all my husband’s male acquaintances, but clearly that was not the case,’ she said sharply.

  Silence fell on the room. Tea was brought in by the same maid who had opened the front door, and who bore every sign of having been weeping. Once she had served everyone with their tea and departed, Dottie turned back to Susan Dunne and said, ‘Erm—I feel I should—that is, Mr Dunne asked me to...’

  ‘My husband spoke to you?’

  Flora and Dottie exchanged a look. Dottie, searching for a delicate way to explain, said, ‘Well yes. He—er—he was still—c—clinging onto life when I...’

  ‘You? It was you who found him?’ For the first time Susan appeared slightly animated. In fact she actually seemed quite shaken. She said, almost as if to herself, ‘So you are the one who was with him at the end.’ She rose from her seat and went to the window, still murmuring and practically wringing her hands.

  ‘Yes, yes I was,’ Dottie tried to find a happy medium between sounding overly excited at her adventure and looking suitably sorrowful and respectful of the deceased.

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ Flora added, raising her voice a little to reach the woman still standing gazing out at the street, ‘to let you know that right up to the last minute, he was thinking only of you.’

  Dottie nodded earnestly.

  Turning back to face them, Mrs Dunne seemed to be completely and utterly bewildered. She half-shook her head as if to deny their words. She came back to her seat, and groped in her sleeve for a black-edged handkerchief which she then pressed to her eyes several times.

  Dottie leaned over and patted Susan’s arm a trifle awkwardly. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’m sure things must seem very grim now, but I hope it will comfort you to know that he was thinking of you when he—at the end. He wanted me to tell you...’

  Susan stared at her in complete astonishment. ‘Oh? He actually spoke to you? What—what did he say?’

  ‘Just that he loved you. He wanted you to know that.’ Now that Dottie had imparted to Susan the fictitious message of love from the dying Archie, it seemed horribly inadequate. Should she perhaps
embellish a little more, she wondered, if a few simple, kind words could bring comfort to a grieving...

  ‘Get out!’ Susan shouted, surging to her feet, the handkerchief falling to the floor unnoticed.

  Flora and Dottie stared at Susan as if she had two heads, completely unable to fathom her reaction.

  ‘Of course, you’re upset and—erm, grief-stricken—no doubt—but we just wanted to let you know...’ Flora said soothingly.

  A strange, strangled cry issued from Susan’s lips and she ran from the room, banging the door behind her. Dottie, frozen in the act of rising from her chair, stood in that attitude for several seconds, half-risen, one hand on the arm of the chair, the other poised in the air. Then it occurred to her that she should resume her seat. She sank back, hardly able to believe what had just happened. Her eyes sought her sister’s. Flora bent to retrieve Susan’s handkerchief from the floor. She folded it neatly and placed it on the little side-table. Neither of them spoke.

  Above their heads, a door slammed and they heard the sound of hurrying feet and the groan of bed springs.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Flora.

  The maid appeared in the doorway, and she looked if possible, even paler than before and was visibly shaking. She seemed to be feeling about her for the right thing to say and finally came out with, ‘I’m so sorry Miss, and—er—Miss, but I-I’m afraid Mrs Dunne isn’t feeling very well. I do hope you understand...’

  ‘Of course,’ Dottie said, and together they followed the maid from the room. She helped them on with their coats and ran to open the front door.

  Dottie noticed an unusual picture on the wall, depicting a young woman in a long gold cloak, much decorated at the hem. ‘What a gorgeous cloak,’ she commented.

  ‘That’s meant to be Esther out of the Bible, Miss. I think she was a queen or summat.’

  ‘This is my card,’ Flora was saying, ‘if it’s all right, could you possibly let me know when Mr Dunne’s funeral is to be held; my husband and I would very much like to be there to offer our respect and our support.’