The Murder of Busy Lizzie mb-46

by Gladys Mitchell

  The verdict was brought to the island by Marius. His children, who were not expecting him back, were not in the hotel when he arrived. However, even although their table-companions, with a few other of the bird-watchers, had left the island, Sebastian and Margaret were not very pleased to see him. All the same, as much out of kindness as out of policy, they decided to disguise their feelings. Miss Crimp, on the contrary, made no attempt to disguise hers.

  ‘Oh, Mr Lovelaine!’ she had exclaimed in dismay when he presented himself at the reception desk. ‘I quite understood that you had left us! I have let your room.’

  ‘Then I fear, Miss Crimp, that I must ask you to find me another. I have come to escort my son and daughter home, and that, as you are well aware, cannot be done until the next boat calls.’

  ‘Well, you know how full the hotel is, Mr Lovelaine. The only thing I can suggest is that we put up a camp bed in the sitting-room of your son’s chalet. That really is the best I can do for you.’

  ‘Go home?’ said Sebastian, when, on meeting him after his interview with Miss Crimp, he informed them that she proposed to instal him (until the boat called) in their tiny sitting-room. ‘But why? And why have you come back, Father? Not that we aren’t glad to see you, of course, but we thought you had left the island for good and were quite agreeable to our finishing out the month here.’

  ‘Well, we will talk that over later. Do you not wish to know how it went with your aunt?’

  At this incongruous way of putting it, Margaret gave an hysterical little squeal of laughter which her brother stifled by giving her a slight but meaningful kick on the ankle.

  ‘What did the coroner’s jury decide?’ he asked his father.

  ‘An open verdict was returned. We may expect the police to be interested. The medical evidence was that she had hit her head and was dead by the time the body had reached the water. It is quite established that death was not by drowning.’

  ‘So police action is contemplated? Oh, well, that’s a good thing, I suppose, although nobody wants to be mixed up with the rozzers.’

  ‘From the point of view of common justice it is, as you say, a good thing, my boy. I do not believe that your aunt, knowing the island and its dangers from high winds — the man Dimbleton told the court of cattle which had been blown over the cliffs, incidents within his own experience — I cannot believe that your aunt would have exposed herself to such an obvious danger.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t seem likely that Aunt Eliza would have taken that sort of risk,’ said Sebastian. ‘Besides, I don’t believe the winds at this time of year would be all that strong. I mean, Maggie and I have walked all round the island, on and off, since we’ve been here, and on the cliff paths, too, and although it’s true that the wind never seems to stop blowing, we never felt we were in any danger of being blown over.’

  ‘So,’ said Marius, ‘I suggest that you two leave the island and that I employ a private detective to look after my interests. I do not rule out my first impression, which was that your aunt met with foul play. I do not care, either, for the thought that Ransome and his father live on the island and have an interest, very possibly, in Lizzie’s death.’

  ‘Well, you thought we ourselves might have an interest in it, Father,’ said Margaret, with a bluntness and a boldness which surprised her hearers and herself.

  ‘Here, steady on, Maggie!’ protested her brother.

  ‘Really, my dear!’ remonstrated Marius.

  ‘Well,’ said the girl, facing these strictures with the grimness of one who now felt that, having started a hare, she had better pursue it to the kill, ‘suppose you do employ a private detective, Father, and suppose he does find out that there was something suspicious about Aunt Eliza’s death, isn’t it going to occur to somebody that she was quite all right until we decided to visit the island? It seems…’ Margaret faltered a little, but continued, albeit without quite daring to meet her father’s eye ‘… it seems pretty logical to me. I mean, do we really want to start people talking?’

  Sebastian suddenly decided to back her up.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘can bring Aunt Eliza back, so I can see Maggie’s point, Father. A private-eye might stir up all sorts of mud. I mean, Aunt Eliza’s past isn’t exactly that of Caesar’s wife, is it? I’ve got to go back to college in the autumn, and Maggie’s got another year at school. We don’t want to have to live down Aunt Eliza’s murder or something else unsavoury. There’s your own professorship, too, to think about, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I should hardly lose that through the death of my only sister,’ said Marius stiffly and, almost for the first time in their lives, speaking as man to man with his son. ‘That is unless there were some reason for thinking that I had a hand in it. All the same, if there was something criminal, I feel I owe it to your aunt’s memory to have it unmasked.’

  ‘Yes, quite, and all very fine, but dirty linen isn’t only grubby, Father. It also is inclined to stink.’

  ‘Father,’ said Margaret suddenly, ‘you mentioned Ransome just now. There’s something you ought to know about him. If Seb hadn’t happened to be on the spot, the chances are that Ransome could have been murdered. What we ought to do—’

  ‘Ransome murdered?’

  ‘He himself says he thinks it was only horse-play,’ said Sebastian, ‘but I’m not sure he’s telling his true thoughts. It was only a day or two ago…’ He told the story truthfully but economically.

  ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed his father. ‘Witches and warlocks, bird-watchers and thugs! What sort of place is this island? I am more anxious than ever that you should leave it.’

  ‘Father,’ said Margaret, ‘Seb and I still want to stay. We thought we might be able to get Dame Beatrice to look into things. You said she was a criminologist and a consultant psychiatrist to the Home Office, didn’t you? We promised Laura—her secretary, you know — that we’d let them know what happened at the inquest, and as you mentioned bringing in a private detective, what about your getting in touch with Dame Beatrice? She wouldn’t stir up mud, so, if it would make you any happier—’

  ‘My dear child, I can’t ask Dame Beatrice to act as a private detective! It would be an insult to suggest such a thing to a person of her eminence.’

  ‘Of course you couldn’t ask her outright. I realise that. But there wouldn’t be any harm in telling her about the inquest and seeing how she reacts, particularly as she was the first doctor to see the body. She might even want to give you her views when she’s heard what you have to say. Do speak to her, Father. She is bound to be discreet and, if she did decide to look into the thing, it would relieve your mind, you know it would, and you couldn’t have a cleverer person on your side if all that you think about her is true.’

  ‘I do not need anybody “on my side” as you call it, but perhaps it would not be a bad thing to canvass Dame Beatrice’s views. Very well. I will go along to Puffins as soon as we have dined.’

  ‘I still think you’d do better to leave things as they are,’ said Sebastian. ‘Pig or no pig, I mean.’

  ‘Pig? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You had better ask Dame Beatrice,’ said Margaret.

  chapter fourteen

  Pursuit of a Vendetta?

  ‘What’s that to me? I waft not fish nor fowls,

  Nor beasts (fond thing) but only human souls.’

  Robert Herrick

  « ^ »

  Margaret, to her brother’s surprise, had brow-beaten Miss Crimp into giving Marius a room in the house.

  ‘I did think, Seb,’ she said, ‘that it would be the last thing to have him sharing the chalet, even for a night or two. He was most intrigued about the pig, wasn’t he? As for me, the more I think about things, the creepier they seem to get. Murders and witches and gangsters are all very well in books and on television, but I find I do rather bar them in real life. Anyway, I’m tired of the island. There’s nothing more to do here—’

  ‘Except find out who killed
Aunt Eliza.’

  ‘I don’t want any part of that. It isn’t as though we knew her, and now there’s been a murderous attempt on Ransome as well, I think we’re better away from it all. What occurs to me is that we’re members of the same family, and people know it.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense, Maggie! Nobody on the island connects us with Ransome and Aunt Eliza!’

  ‘Miss Crimp does.’

  ‘Miss Crimp?’

  ‘She’s got this partnership in the hotel. She knows The Tutor is Aunt Eliza’s brother. That means she knows we’re related to Ransome. Well, she’s got rid of Aunt Eliza—or somebody has — and my bet is that she’s at the bottom of this business of trying to drown Ransome. She may even think it has succeeded. If it had done, that would have left our family as Aunt Eliza’s only relatives. Of course I know it all depends on Aunt’s will, but apart from any question of money or property, who else would have any reason to murder Aunt Eliza? The Crimp probably hated her. I’m sure she hates us.’

  ‘Well, there’s something in your argument, perhaps. Let’s wait until The Tutor has spoken to Dame Beatrice. That will probably decide matters, apart from any action the police may take.’

  ‘Shall we go with him to Puffins?’

  ‘I don’t suppose he’ll want us tagging along.’

  It transpired, during conversation over the dinner table, that Marius had decided to ask his son, but not his daughter, to accompany him, but at this Margaret protested with so much vehemence that her father felt obliged to reconsider his offer.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I do not feel that I ought to inflict three of us on Dame Beatrice, so, my dear, if you feel put out at being left here alone, I will go by myself to Puffins and Sebastian shall stay here with you. Will that be satisfactory?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Father.’

  ‘And, in any case, on second thoughts, Sebastian,’ said Marius, ‘perhaps it will be easier for both parties if I interview Dame Beatrice alone.’

  ‘Very well, Father,’ said Sebastian; but when their father had left the hotel for the short, downhill walk to Puffins, he turned on his sister reproachfully. ‘You little chump,’ he said. ‘Now bang goes our chance of getting in on the ground floor of this frightful but exciting business.’

  ‘The Tutor will tell us all about it, and report what Dame Beatrice has to say.’

  ‘Like hell he will! When did he ever take us completely into his confidence? He still thinks we’re a couple of kids and he’s as secretive as a clam, anyway. He’ll tell us just as much as he thinks it’s good for us to know, and that will be damn all, I can assure you. No, you young fathead, you’ve sold the pass. What on earth was there to be scared of, anyway, so long as you stayed in the hotel? You didn’t need to spend the evening alone in the chalet.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was scared. I didn’t see why I should be left out of the fun, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, well, it’s all done with and settled now, so that’s that, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, stop complaining, then. I don’t often interfere with your plans. The fact is, Seb, that I don’t like and I don’t trust Miss Crimp, and the thought of being left alone here does scare me. She gives me goose flesh.’

  ‘Yet you bearded her in her den and made her give The Tutor a room. Oh, well, girls will be girls, I suppose. Perhaps we can pump Laura Gavin when we go for our morning bathe.’

  ‘Oh, Seb, I’m sorry I interfered.’

  ‘Say no more about it. What shall we do to pass the rest of the evening?’

  ‘Are we waiting up for The Tutor, then? There really doesn’t seem much point.’

  ‘Oh, well, you go to bed, then, but I expect he’ll like to find one of us awake when he gets back.’

  ‘I say, Seb, you do think Aunt Eliza was murdered for her money, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t see what else there is to think. That’s if she was murdered, you know. It seems an open question.’

  ‘But if it was for what she had to leave, isn’t Ransome in rather a peculiar position?’

  ‘Well, I suppose he’d be one of the claimants, but, then, so are we, as you rather boldly pointed out to The Tutor.’

  ‘That’s true, so far as it goes. Why, though, did Ransome tell us Aunt Eliza was in debt? If that’s true, it lets him out.’

  ‘And us, too, no doubt—not that anybody could suspect The Tutor of murdering anybody. It isn’t his scene.’

  ‘To go back to Ransome…’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s only since Aunt’s death that he found out she had nothing to leave but debts.’

  ‘If we’re going in for wild speculations, the same could apply to Miss Crimp.’

  ‘But she denied that there were any debts, didn’t she?’

  ‘Could be camouflage. Anyway, it can be proved that, if Aunt Eliza was murdered, none of our family could have done it. She was dead before we set foot on the island.’

  ‘That’s a comfort, anyhow. Do you know, I think I will go to bed, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’

  ‘All right, unless you’d like a knock-up at table tennis first. Among the other (possibly unpaid-for) improvements listed on the brochure, I seem to remember a notice that one of the chalets is listed as a games room. Shall we toddle across and take a butcher’s?’

  ‘Oh, very well, then. We’d better change our shoes, though. I must, anyway. I can’t play table tennis in my evening shoes. Are you coming?’ (They were in the lounge of the hotel.)

  ‘No, I shan’t bother. If I can dance in these pumps, I can play table tennis in them.’

  ‘And your dinner jacket?’

  ‘Oh, well, look, then, we’ll stroll over to the chalets and out there I can shed my jacket and you can take it with you and bring me back my thin sweater while I repair to the games room and bag a table for our game.’

  The large chalet which was called the games room was situated at the far end of the sunken garden so that any sounds which emanated from it should not penetrate to the other chalets and disturb the rest of their inhabitants.

  Margaret and Sebastian, therefore, went their separate ways, he across the sunken garden and up the steps on the far side of it, she in almost the opposite direction. She had slung her brother’s dinner-jacket round her shoulders and was hitching it into position when she became aware that someone was standing at one of the windows of the chalet which she and Sebastian occupied. The sun was beginning to set and was going down in a blaze of splendour to the sea, but the sky was clear and the day was not yet done. It was an hour, however, when Margaret and her brother had usually retired to their chalet, not to sleep, but to read the books which Sebastian, who had guessed correctly the contents of Laura’s rectangular parcel when first she had come to the island, was in the habit of borrowing from time to time.

  The golden glow of the declining sun seemed to be setting the windows of the chalet on fire, and Margaret, in any case, could not see the visitor’s face. His back was towards her, and his figure, against the almost blinding light, was nothing more than a silhouette. As the girl walked towards him she saw something more. He was busy at the window with the obvious intention of attempting to force it open. As soon as she realised this, Margaret ran forward, shouting:

  ‘Hi, there! What are you up to?’

  At this the man turned and ran. He ran clumsily, for he was heavily built and did not appear to be in his first youth. Margaret made no attempt to pursue him, neither did she continue in her course towards the chalet. She stopped dead, her heart pounding. Then she turned and made off in the direction of the games room and flung herself at her astonished brother.

  ‘Where’s my sweater?’ he demanded.

  ‘A man!’ gulped Margaret. ‘A man trying to get into our chalet!’

  Except for themselves the games room was empty. Sebastian took her by the shoulders and put her on to a bench which was against the wall.

  ‘Here, steady on,’ he said, ‘What’s all the panic about?’


  ‘A man! Trying to force a window. I’m sure he thought we were in there. Since Father went to the inquest we’ve always gone back there after dinner. We were sitting in the lounge a bit longer than usual tonight. Oh, Seb, I’m scared! First Aunt Eliza, then Ransome, now us. Oh, I’ll be so thankful when we go home! I hate this beastly place!’

  ‘Now, then, take it steady,’ said Sebastian. ‘I bet all you saw was somebody who’d mistaken our chalet for his own. Probably put away a couple too many in the bar. Come on, I’ll walk back over there with you. Why, it’s still daylight! Nobody tries to burgle a place—’

  ‘It wasn’t a burglar!’

  ‘Well, I never said it was. I’m sure it was only some pickled customer mistaking his home from home. It does happen, even in the best-regulated hotels, you know, and the chalets are all alike.’

  ‘But I tell you he was trying to force a window! I’m sure he was!’

  ‘What of it? Found his key wouldn’t fit and was too sozzled to realise he was trying to open the wrong box, so he had a go at a window, that’s all. For goodness’ sake forget it.’

  ‘But he ran away as soon as I shouted.’

  ‘Probably brought him to his senses. A sudden jolt does do that sometimes. Come on, now, not to worry. Shall we have a knock-up or shan’t we?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be able to hit a ball, and I’ve still got these silly shoes on.’

  ‘All right, give me back my jacket. We’ll go over to the hotel and I’ll buy you a stiffener in the bar. You’re just about old enough, aren’t you?’

  They stayed in the hotel bar for three-quarters of an hour. Under the mingled influence of the cheerful chatter round about her, the comfort of her brother’s presence and the effect of two fairly potent drinks, Margaret relaxed and calmed down, and when Sebastian, with a glance at the clock, suggested that it was time to think about going to the chalet before it got quite dark, she was ready enough to accompany him.

  When they reached their chalet, however, she hesitated.

  ‘You don’t think he managed to get in while we were in the bar, do you?’ she asked. Sebastian laughed.