The Dead Woman Who Lived

by Endellion Palmer

  The three drank in silence. Death had passed through the house so recently that they could almost hear her wings beating as she flew on. Even though Fancy was not regretted by any of them with affection, the manner of her passing was ingrained in their memories.

  “Well, I’ll be off,” said Bob finally, draining his glass. “I’ve prep to do for tomorrow’s surgery. And Daphne will be agog to know what’s been happening. You know where I am if you need me. Don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks for your support, Bob. It’s much appreciated, I can tell you,” said Adrien.

  “Did you call William?”

  Adrien nodded.

  “I spoke to Jean. William is out tonight. Mrs Rose has taken a turn for the worse, and he’s over with her at the moment.”

  The three of them walked through the deserted hall and out into the porch. Bob searched through his bag for his scarf, remembering finally that he had thrust it into his pocket when he ran into the house.

  “This is a hellish business,” he said gruffly, wrapping it round his throat. “Watch out for Damaris and Jamie. He’s highly strung, but I expect his grief to be easier to deal with in the long run. Didi keeps things to herself. Don’t let her brood—try to get her to open up. I gave Juliana some sleeping powders for them, if she thinks it needful. Sleep will be the best thing for them.”

  The clock chimed nine just as Bob’s car disappeared down the drive. Adrien went back to his study to call Andrew Fenton and let him know what had happened, and Alistair went upstairs. He met Juliana in the hallway, Hobbs patrolling at her feet. The veil of shock was gone from her face and she looked exhausted, but the jut of her jaw was determined, and she gave him a searching look as he approached her.

  “I’m going to see to Damaris now,” she said. “She locked herself in her room earlier, after Joe Vercoe took her statement, and I haven’t heard a chirp since. Jamie’s asleep at last. I had to give him a sleeping powder. I could not get him to calm down. He was well nigh heartbroken.”

  Alistair had seen how very upset Jamie had been; he had been expecting it from the moment he saw Fancy’s dead body. Sending Simon straight into town to tell the Saxbys and Daphne what had happened, Juliana had taken Jamie to his room, to ensure that he did not have to watch the removal of his mother’s body, and had remained with him, even during his interview with Joe Vercoe. Damaris had continued in a daze, refusing all help, unspeaking and wanting no one near her.

  “Let Damaris talk if she wants,” Alistair said. “She is dealing with things differently to her brother, but I think she feels things just as deeply.”

  Juliana looked at him gravely. There was a tray with a jug on the half-moon table behind her, and she poured a cup of cocoa and handed it to him.

  “You look like you need it too. I know that no one got much to eat this evening. There are some sandwiches and buns in your room. I had the kitchen make a tray up for everyone. I hope that’ll do.”

  “Thank you for being so thoughtful. I hadn’t realised until Bob left that it was so late,” he replied, taking the cup and enjoying the warmth of the stoneware in his hands.

  “It has been a horrible day,” she remarked, then turned to him. “I’m glad it’s nearly over. I will see what Didi has to say. I think you are correct in your reading of her. If there is anything you need to know, I will relate it to you. There is no room for niceties now. Whatever is going on here has taken a different turn. I don’t believe Fancy killed herself any more than you do. Someone murdered her deliberately.”

  “I’m glad you feel like that, Juliana. This is going to be unpleasant, to say the least.”

  She turned and looked at him.

  “I suppose we are all under suspicion?”

  “If Willett decides that it was not suicide, then yes. And that will include the Clevedons, at the very least. They are always in and out. Daphne Cundy, too, given her outspoken views on Fancy’s behaviour.”

  She looked surprised. “What possible reason…?”

  He shrugged in his turn. “They will be looking for anyone who might have had reason to want to hurt her. And the chance to do so.”

  Juliana looked astonished. “But poison! I can’t see anyone we know using poison!”

  “I am looking at any reasons there might be for what happened,” Alistair replied. “So far nothing substantive has appeared. There were lots of little reasons that people disliked Fancy. I’ve been here only a few days and I saw how easily she riled people. But the police will look into everything, if they think it is murder. Little things can assume great proportions in a murder enquiry.”

  ***

  Leaving her thoughtful on the landing, Alistair thanked her again for the hot drink, then left her and took his cup to his room. Juliana watched him go, then carried the tray upstairs to the second floor. She knocked on Damaris’ door and called her name. There was a silence, and she knocked again. Finally she heard movement within, then the lock turned. Damaris opened the door slowly. She was ready for bed, her hair hanging in a thick plait over her shoulder, but she seemed dazed, and the suitcase she had packed that morning still sat on her bed.

  “I thought you might like some cocoa,” said Juliana quietly. “Adrien asked me to tell you that he has put a call through to the hospital and told them you will not be back. He spoke to the Night Sister. She sent her condolences.”

  She pressed a cup into Damaris’ cold hands, urging her to sit down.

  “Sister Davies is a good sort,” she muttered.

  She stumbled towards the bed, then sat and watched blankly as Juliana unpacked the case, putting away the clothes in the various drawers, laying the hairbrush and comb on the dressing table, and hanging the sponge bag by the door. When it was empty, she pushed it out of sight under the bed.

  “Do you remember the first time you brought me cocoa?” Damaris said out of the blue. “We sat right here and talked for hours. Adrien had to come and fetch you! We laughed so much that night.”

  She smiled at the memory, then her face crumpled and tears slid from her eyes. Taking the cup from her shaking hands, Juliana put it on the bedside table and sat next to her, rubbing the cold hands, then holding her as Damaris collapsed.

  “She didn’t kill herself, Juliana. That’s not how she would have chosen to commit suicide, if she really had wanted to die. You knew her well enough. She wouldn’t choose to die in terrible pain like that, ugly and delirious.”

  Juliana wondered how she knew—neither of the twins had been allowed to see their mother’s body before it was taken to the morgue—then realised that she would have had to deal with poison victims at the hospital.

  “They think she was killed, don’t they?” Damaris asked. “Alistair, and Adrien. They don’t believe she committed suicide?”

  The question was unwilling, but clear through the sobs.

  “I believe that is what they think,” Juliana replied with caution, “although I haven’t talked with them much. Damaris, can you think of any reason why someone might have wanted to kill your mother?”

  Damaris scrubbed at her eyes hard with a handkerchief.

  “You knew Mother. Practically everyone disliked her, more or less. But to take that further, to actually want to kill her! That takes real hatred, real violence. I can’t see who would do that.”

  She sat back against the wall, pulling her dressing gown round her legs. Shivering, she pulled at the eiderdown too, and Juliana tucked it around her.

  “Is Jamie all right?” Damaris asked suddenly.

  Juliana nodded.

  “I just left him fifteen minutes ago. He was fast asleep. You don’t need to worry about him tonight. He’s had a sleeping draught. He won’t disturb us, if you want to talk frankly.”

  “Thank you. I don’t think I have the energy left to comfort him tonight.”

  Damaris’ voice had lost its warm timbre and sounded like it came from a different person. Having been with Jamie herself, Juliana could understand his sister’s concern. J
amie had been inconsolable, and Juliana had finally insisted he take a draught, worrying for his reason if he did not calm down. She had sat with him, talking to him and holding his hand until the sedative had taken effect and his crying had stopped, his breathing had slowed and his grasp on her hand had slackened.

  “Things will seem better tomorrow, after you have both had some rest. Shock is a difficult thing to deal with. Jamie will get over this. He’s made of good stuff. You both are,” replied Juliana.

  Damaris gave a weak smile. She started to say something, then closed her lips. Juliana sat back against the headboard.

  “If you want to talk, Didi, I’m here. I won’t judge.”

  Damaris looked relieved at this, and suddenly the words came spilling out.

  “There were times I actually hated her. She was a terrible mother. I never remember her being affectionate or loving. I envied Jamie being sent away to school. It made being home so much worse, doing silly little lessons with a governess.”

  Her mouth was bitter as she spoke. Juliana said nothing, just held her hand and listened.

  “Miss White was her name. She was desperate for work—a gentlewoman in reduced circumstances, poor soul. No backbone at all; she couldn’t stand up to Mother. She was too scared of losing her pitiful salary and having no reference to find another job with.”

  Juliana thought back to her own school days and the rigorous lessons and games and study tea parties, and pitied Damaris.

  “There were weeks when I hardly saw Mother. We spoke so little it was risible. I expected nothing from a very early age. But I always knew how much Jamie wanted her affection. I know that I must be a suspect in her death, but for no other reason than Jamie, I couldn’t have hurt her. You saw him earlier. He absolutely fell apart. All he wanted was a little love. And she was smart enough to give him enough to keep him going, just occasionally. It didn’t take much.”

  She sat with a strange, faraway look in her eye, and seemed much sadder when she talked about her brother than her mother. Juliana took her hand and squeezed it to bring her back.

  “Did you know she liked a drink in the afternoon?”

  Damaris nodded and flushed. “I despised her for it. She used to rinse her mouth out afterwards. If I smelt tooth powder at odd times, I knew she’d been at the brandy.”

  ***

  Juliana related this to Alistair before she went to bed. They sat on the top stair and talked quietly together.

  “She is so bitter, Alistair. Almost too much. I think if she had seriously tried to poison her mother, she would not be so open about her dislike.”

  “There is such a limited pool to choose from, Juliana,” he replied, worried. “It would take a brazen soul to wander in here from outside without a valid excuse. That limits it to the household and people like Helena and Sylvia, who were both here earlier.”

  Juliana’s face cleared.

  “You know, it’s perfectly possible to get into the library from outside. One of the windows has a wonky catch. If you jiggle it right, you can open the window. Didn’t Adrien mention it?”

  Alistair’s breath caught in his throat, his interest piqued. “No, he didn’t!”

  “He must have forgotten in all the drama,” replied Juliana.

  “Show me!” he urged.

  They raced downstairs and out through the front door, out into the cool damp of the evening. The dark air was thick as velouté, soft as cold fur, smelling of salt and wet grass. They ran around the outside of the house until they were outside the library windows. At the end of the row closest to them, Juliana stepped up and pointed to the catch.

  “Look, see how loose it is? It is fairly simple to open it from here with a knife, if you slide it through just there.”

  “Why didn’t anyone else mention this?” he asked, producing a pocket knife from his jacket and opening the blade. He also pulled on a pair of thin leather gloves, to his companion’s surprise. Gently he inserted the thin metal at the point Juliana had indicated, visualising the catch from the other side, and worked the blade upwards. In seconds the catch released and the window swung out.

  “I shouldn’t think anyone thought about it,” she replied. “I forgot totally until just now.”

  Alistair closed the glass again and worked the process backwards until the window was locked again.

  “This alters things vis-a-vis the brandy decanter,” he said.

  Juliana looked surprised.

  “What do you mean? Oh, you mean that someone might have come in from outside and poisoned it? Really?”

  “It’s possible. And it means that we can look outside the house and immediate circle. Easy enough to slip in at night.”

  She pulled a face. “Not very likely, Alistair, is it? And the timing is still tight. She had a drink last night, so it had to be done after that.”

  He looked at her and his face grew stern.

  “It will be useful, believe me. If you start looking, there are a number of people here in the house, and on the Island, who did not like Fancy. The maids loathed her; that is common knowledge. You and she were not friendly. Ditto Daphne. Helena…”

  “Helena! What on earth do you mean? She’s barely here!”

  “Helena was in love with Adrien. Before he met you. She admits that it was just a girlish infatuation, but Fancy knew about it and told other people. Rubbed her face in it, I believe. Helena was mortified. And her mother was furious on her daughter’s behalf. And both of them were around the house at some point today.”

  “You are not saying that…!”

  He took her arm and patted it. “I’m not accusing anyone. I’m telling you what the police will say if they find out. Tiny snippets of information can suddenly cast huge shade.”

  She looked sick.

  “Inspector Willett will be here in the morning,” he said. “If he decides that Fancy was murdered, then at the least, we can throw some doubt on it definitely being someone from the household or the Island. We can show that someone from outside could have got in and out of the library without going through the house at all.”

  They walked slowly back round the house and Juliana locked the front door behind them. She was pensive, then caught at his sleeve. He looked down at her.

  “You should get to bed, Juliana. It’s been a long day. And tomorrow is likely to be worse.”

  She kept hold of his jacket. He could feel her hands shake as she held on to him.

  “Alistair, do you think this is to do with my being pushed off the cliff? Could this be connected? I can’t see why someone would want to kill Fancy, but what if she knew something, something incriminating?”

  He couldn’t lie to her. He knew she would not thank him for it and only hoped that she would not take the next logical step, at least not tonight. The next few days were going to be difficult enough. He would prefer to put off that particular unpleasantness at least until the next day.

  “I can’t say for certain, Juliana,” he temporised. “But you need to be careful. You have regained most of your memory. You have openly talked about dreaming that you are about to unmask someone on the clifftop. I think someone is scared.”

  Chapter 24

  The inspector arrived after breakfast the next morning, with a look on his square face that bode ill for those with whom he was to come into contact. He stalked into the house as if he was irked to be there, and marched through the hall to the library without a word. Joe produced the keys that Adrien had given him the night before and unlocked the door before stepping back and allowing the inspector to enter before him. Alistair followed in silence.

  Willett had barely had time to read the report produced by Joe Vercoe upon his arrival at the station that morning, having been delayed by a bad traffic accident on the road from town. He had not got home the night before til late, being kept in Truro for hours after the court finished, and was tired from a short night, and cross as two sticks that he was not on top of the situation at Trevennen. He looked around.


  “It seems like a straightforward suicide to me,” he said.

  He gave a cursory examination of the area of the room where Fancy’s body had been found, and then of the sideboard. Alistair remembered the photographer spending an inordinate amount of time in the room the previous afternoon; the photographs had clearly been good. Willett simply walked from spot to spot, as if he was placing objects and points of view that he had already seen.

  “You dusted everything, Vercoe?” he asked.

  “We did, sir. And the brandy was taken for analysis. It seemed odd to me that she would put poison in the decanter. Easier to poison a single glass, I thought.”

  He caught Alistair’s eyes over the inspector’s shoulder, and Alistair gave him a nod of encouragement.

  “Yes, yes,” replied Willett. “Well, we should have the results back from the lab soon. What did you find on the glass?”

  “The only prints on the decanter were Mrs Evans’ herself and one of the maids’. Clear set from Florence Williams.”

  Willett looked a little bored by this. “I suppose she was responsible for cleaning in here, was she?” he asked, flicking at the rim of his hat with a stubby finger as he regarded the outline on the carpet that Joe had marked before Fancy was taken away the day before. “So, just Mrs Evans’ fingerprints, then?”

  Joe took a deep breath and pushed on bravely. “Sir, there were a couple of points I thought interesting. No one in the household thinks that she was in a state of mind to take her own life. Especially in such a nasty way. Dr Cundy knows… knew the lady well, too. He is of the same opinion.”

  Willett stared at him. “Are you suggesting this was murder, Vercoe?”

  “I think it would be something to think about, sir. It would not be difficult. Apparently no one but Mrs Evans usually drank from that particular decanter. And I’ve been told that it’s easy enough to get into this room from outside; one of the windows has a loose catch.”

  A thin whistle came from the inspector’s lips, and Alistair saw his shoulders sag under his coat. This was clearly not what he had wanted to hear. Joe was about to speak again, but Willett waved him off and turned deliberately back to the hall, where he declared his intention of speaking to everyone in the household, one at a time, starting with Adrien. Adrien offered the use of his study again, as the quietest room in the house. Willett thanked him coldly, then he snatched the sheaf of notes from his inferior, added them to his photograph file, and retired to the study.