“Even given her relationship with Fancy, she is bound still to be upset,” Adrien answered. He toyed with a slice of sponge cake, absently dipping his fingertip into the soft sugar topping.
Juliana was thoughtful. “I understand that, Adrien. Even if she and Fancy were not great friends, it must still have been the most awful shock. No, it was odd, like I said. She did not look in shock. She looked scared.”
Alistair took a scone, spreading it with cream. “It was a most violent death. It took place in a room where you all felt safe. She may well be feeling fear,” he said, looking over at Juliana.
She nodded, aware that she had felt flickers herself. Her dreams at night were no longer restricted to the cliff; there were shadows in the house now, in her own home, where she should feel secure. She had dreamed of Fancy last night, her clawed hands scratching at her neck as she followed Juliana through the house. Juliana had awoken in a panic, and had lain awake for a long time afterwards, wide-eyed in the dark.
Damaris appeared at Juliana’s door later. She looked miserable. “I am sorry, Julie,” she muttered. “For being so rude earlier.”
Juliana pulled her into the room. “Come in and talk to me while I get ready. I’m running late.”
Damaris was already dressed for dinner, although her hair had simply been knotted at her neck and her dress looked limp and unpressed. They had all agreed that the usual niceties need not apply, but everyone still was making an effort. Alistair had seen it before. Sometimes the rituals that led through the days were comforting in times of stress and panic. And if continuing to change for dinner helped to cope with the atmosphere of death and fear, then that was all to the good.
“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Juliana said as she took off her dressing gown and picked her frock off the bed. It was one that had come from the trunk and was sufficiently sober that she felt it would be more discreet than donning a proper evening gown.
She pulled it on and twisted round to button it up the back. Damaris watched her with the ghost of a smile on her lips, then moved over to help her.
“Let me do these ones for you,” she said.
When she had finished, she leaned her head on Juliana’s shoulder. Juliana raised her hand and gently stroked her hair. It had not been properly brushed and was rough under her fingers.
“I feel so guilty, Julie,” whispered Damaris. “I can’t seem to feel pain. What is wrong with me?”
Juliana turned and took Damaris’ hands, which were cold through and through.
“Don’t think like that. I think you are still in shock. Your feelings just now will be dictated by that.”
Damaris clutched at her as if grateful for the warmth. “Lord knows she wasn’t the best of mothers, but surely I should feel some kind of pain. The only regret I feel is for Jamie—he is hurting so much. Even if I think, deep down, that he will be better off without her. She was never going to be the mother he wanted.”
Dinner was a sombre affair. The meal was picked over, but the wine that Adrien opened was accepted gratefully by everyone, and slowly they started to relax. Over rice pudding and apples the talk turned to Florence. Jamie, who had only come out of his room at Juliana’s direct request, was startled to hear of her arrest, his heavy eyes flicking open in shock.
“Florence? Why would the inspector think she had anything to do with it?” he asked, taking another glass of wine. Juliana looked at him. He was drinking more than usual. She looked at Damaris, who was silent, scraping up the remains of her pudding.
“He doesn’t like the coincidence of the decanters,” replied Adrien flatly.
Jamie looked staggered. “He arrested her because she broke a decanter?” he questioned.
Alistair sipped at his own glass. “He is a singularly unimaginative man. He seems to believe that the truth involves straight lines. I am trying to work out the best way to get Florence released, but at the moment he is proving intransigent.”
“That poor girl,” murmured Damaris. “What must she be going through?”
“We’ll get her out, Didi,” said Adrien, looking for confirmation from Alistair, sounding more confident than he felt.
“We should set Aunt Daphne onto Inspector Willett,” said Jamie with a half-smile. “I’m pretty sure she can sort him out in short order. I’ve yet to see anyone stand up to her when she’s on the war path.”
For a second or two the mood of the table lifted, but the moment did not last, and coffee afterwards was taken quickly and without much more conversation. It was early when the party broke up.
Juliana saw the twins to their rooms. She was increasingly worried about them. The death of their mother seemed to have driven a wedge between them. Damaris had turned from Jamie just when he needed her most, and shock was not the cause of it, she would bet on it. And yet Damaris recognised the pain her brother was experiencing; she had admitted that.
She went to Damaris first, offering a shoulder to cry on, but got no response. Unable to get through, she left Damaris tucked up in her bed, listlessly reading a book she had picked at random from the shelves downstairs.
Jamie was in his pyjamas, but he was not in bed. He was sitting by the window, leaning his forehead on the glass. He barely jumped when Juliana knocked and came in.
“Are you feeling a little better, Jamie?” she asked, stroking the hair back from his forehead. His hair was still damp from washing his face. She brought his towel from its hook by the door and rubbed it dry.
Jamie shrugged, closing his eyes at the touch of her hands.
“That feels nice,” he said, his voice drained.
She finished drying his hair, then combed it out.
“Why is Didi avoiding me?” he asked suddenly.
Juliana sat down next to him, mainly because that way she didn’t have to look him directly in the face. He sounded miles away from the easy, laughing young man whom she had come to know. She squeezed his arm gently.
“I think she is in shock, Jamie,” she answered, not sure how honest she should be, given his state of mind. “Let her work it out on her own; she loves you, but this has been as much of a shock to her as it was to you.”
He looked at her and almost smiled. “You don’t have to pretend, Julie. Didi and Mother did not get along, and I don’t think that my sister will mourn her much.”
“Perhaps not, but shock takes people differently. Why else would she be acting strangely? Is there something else you know?”
He clammed up at this and shook his head. They sat in uneasy silence for a while, until the cold from the window seemed to reach Jamie and he shivered. Juliana got to her feet and stretched. At her movement, he reached up and grabbed her hand.
“Don’t leave me! Please. I can’t stop thinking about Florence. She’s only a kid. She shouldn’t be locked up like that.”
“No, it’s wrong,” she replied. “But there is nothing we can do tonight. Let’s get you to bed. You look awful, Jamie. I’m going to give you another of the powders Bob left last night.”
Having supervised his taking the powder, she sat with him again, at his request. Tonight he fell asleep almost straight away, without the shudders and starts that had afflicted him the night before, but still gripping her hand in his. She sat for a while watching his sleeping face, his lashes thick dark semicircles on his white cheeks. Finally she brushed his forehead with her lips. He was deeply under and didn’t make a sound, so she left him alone, leaving a fresh nightlight burning in its bed of sand, the glass jar sending a comforting glow throughout the room in case he awoke.
She went downstairs, refusing to look into corners for shadows, stalwartly tamping down on the feeling that there were hidden eyes watching her. Pulling on her rubber boots, she threw her mack over her shoulders and took the dog out for a final quick walk. It was cool and fresh outside, the sky free from clouds and the stars clear. As Hobbs sniffed around, she stood on the edge of the terrace, looking up into the dark for a constellation that she knew. The stars
had been difficult to see in London; their clarity here was another delight to her. Her head, which had started to ache up in Jamie’s room, cleared and she was soothed by the sound of the sea. She had no idea how much time passed, but the mere action of standing there in the cool dark, listening to the waves and tracing patterns between the sharp bright specks of light above her, calmed her considerably.
Eventually Hobbs came back and sat at her feet, looking up at the sky with her with a look of satisfaction on his face that made her smile despite herself, and they went back into the house, locking and bolting the side door behind them. She carried the dog up to her room and Hobbs settled back onto the cushion that had been provided for him in the corner. He was extremely pleased with it, turning round and round and then flopping down. Juliana smiled at his antics, then started to get ready for bed. It was not until she tried to undo the buttons of her frock that she discovered there was a problem.
“New form of exercise, Juliana? Looks devilishly complicated.”
She gave a start as Adrien spoke from the bathroom, then glared at him.
“It’s my frock. It buttons up the back. Damaris helped me into it, but I can’t quite reach the middle ones.”
Adrien lounged in the door. He grinned at her contortions, loosening his tie with his other hand, leaving the ends hanging down on his shirt.
“Not sure I want to help,” he said. “This is most amusing. You know, this is one reason you had a maid!”
“I have a husband, I shouldn’t need one!”
She scowled again, feeling ridiculous half in and half out of her gown, and he relented, standing behind her and deftly unfastening the four buttons that Juliana had been unable to contort enough to reach. His breath was cool on the back of her neck as he leaned down for the last one. Minus its fastenings, the dress slipped forward and she grabbed at it, holding it close to her front. Adrien was still standing behind her, looking into the mirror at her. For once his defences were completely down and she could see what was behind his eyes. Fear. Despair. Desire. He didn’t look away.
“I’ll leave you to get on,” he said finally.
Juliana realised that she was going to have to be clear with him. He was not going to make any assumptions. And she knew that she did not want him to go. She did not want another night alone in the ebony bed. She wanted her husband back. The dress fell to the ground, pooling in a dark circle around her feet as she swung around and grabbed at the ends of his tie. She hoped she had not misread the look on his face.
“Stay with me, please.”
Chapter 25
Alistair’s first move the next morning was to go to the police station. He had breakfasted alone for the most part. Adrien had arrived five minutes later and had bolted a plate of eggs and toast while talking. There had been an air of hidden joy about him that Alistair had noticed straight away and wondered about, until he recognised the same in Juliana. He was glad for them, for the ecstatic look in both sets of eyes, but kept quiet.
“I decided we need to get a lawyer involved, if Willett continues with his assertion that Florence had something to do with this,” Adrien said, determined. “Andrew knows some chaps in Penzance that might be able to help.”
Alistair looked straight at him. “You are certain that Florence had nothing to do with it, then?”
Adrien looked shocked. “Of course I am. You’ve seen the girl yourself.”
Alistair nodded. “And if the attempt was really one on your wife’s life? What then?”
Adrien paled, but he didn’t flinch. “I think we can admit that it is more likely that Juliana was the target, Alistair. It chills me even to say the words, but ignoring it is not going to help.”
He finished his coffee, swilling it down as he got to his feet.
“I’d send Juliana away, if I could. Suggested she go back to London. She refused point-blank.”
“I doubt she’d be allowed to go,” replied Alistair. “If Willett is genuinely thinking that this is a murder attempt, no one will be allowed to leave Sancreed.”
“But he has Florence in custody. Alistair, I want my wife safe. Somewhere far from here.”
“He is not stupid,” said Alistair. “Stubborn and keen on quick solutions, but not stupid. I think he is going to realise quickly that Florence is not a viable suspect. And in that case, he’ll be back here, looking at everyone else.”
Adrien groaned. “Well, that option has been taken out of my hands, then,” he said. “I shall leave you now. I will check on Florence before I go to Penzance, but it will be a flying visit.”
“I am going to the station myself, to talk to Florence,” Alistair replied. “And then I hope to find Mabyn Black at home. I’ll catch up with you afterwards.”
Adrien rushed off, and Alistair took his time over the meal, knowing from bitter experience that it was best to make the most of opportunity when it presented itself.
He drove to the town, stopping the car by the post office. Not knowing what Florence preferred in the confectionery line, he chose as he would for his younger sister. He picked out some chocolate bars and asked for a quarter of bullseyes, then added an illustrated paper. He could see that Minnie Sercombe was itching to know what was going on as she weighed out the sweets, but she said nothing beyond the usual niceties, and he left quickly with his purchases under his arm.
Joe Vercoe was alone in the office when Alistair knocked and went in. He brightened when he saw who it was, but shook his head before Alistair even spoke.
“I can’t release her, Mr Carr,” he said. “This is no place for a mite like that, but Inspector was adamant. And frankly, it’s better here than at Mawnaccan. I can keep an eye on her here.”
“I understand, Vercoe. You have your orders. Has he interviewed her again?”
The look on Joe’s face spoke volumes.
“He’s due back this morning,” answered Joe. “Taking his time about it, I reckon. Mind, he doesn’t seem to be a great one for rushing around. We talked again about the latch on that window yesterday, before he went home. He may be off up to the house to check up on it. For the first time, I think he’s coming to think that Mrs Evans just got in the way of a plan to hurt Mrs Creed. And for the life of me, I can’t see why he would think that Florence is involved if he is thinking along those lines.”
He cast a quick look at the door behind him.
“She’s as comfortable as I can make her, don’t worry about that. Mrs Vercoe fetched some extra blankets last night and a bowl of soup, and took her a good breakfast in special this morning. Mr Creed dropped by not half an hour ago to check she was all right and had a quick word.”
Joe stopped here and the trace of a smile crossed his mouth.
“She’s a tough nut, that girl,” he said. “I know she was crying yesterday when we were at the house, but she’s not shed a tear since. I’ve never seen someone so angry as she was last night, after the inspector finished with her. Fizzing with it, she was.”
“Good for Florence,” replied Alistair, relieved that the girl was fighting back. “May I speak to her, Sergeant?”
“Inspector Willett didn’t say anything about her not having visitors” was the reply, and he was shown back to the cell where Florence sat on the cot, still in her print frock from the day before, a mutinous look on her face.
“Mr Carr!” she exclaimed, and rushed towards him. “Have you come to get me out of here? Mr Creed said you were trying right hard.”
“We are working on it, Florence,” he said, and brought a chair over to the bars. “Here, something from Ada and some sweets and a comic to help you pass the time. Mrs Fennell is baking a ginger cake for you to eat when you get home, so keep your spirits up.”
He passed through the purchases he had made earlier, adding a cloth bag containing a hairbrush and pins and other necessities that Ada had given him to pass on.
“Sergeant Vercoe said that you passed a reasonable night. I hope that is true.”
She nodded, breaking off
a corner of the chocolate and popping it into her mouth.
“His wife was right kind,” she said after chewing. “Brought me porridge and bacon this morning, and some hot water to wash in. And it was cosy in here last night after she gave me some blankets. Thank you for the chocolate, Mr Carr.”
“It’s not much, Florence. Just a treat to help you out. Look, sit down, if you want. Bring that stool over. May I ask you some questions before the inspector gets here?”
She did as she was told, and sat, straight-backed, with her arms crossed across her skinny chest. Just the mention of Inspector Willett was enough to enrage her. She looked at him shrewdly.
“Was it Mrs Evans that was supposed to drink that stuff?” she asked. “Or was it meant for Mrs Creed? And me breaking the bottle messed it up?”
He was a little surprised at her insight.
“That, my girl, is something I would dearly like to know for certain myself,” he answered, and she gave him a grin that showed her overlarge teeth.
“Did you know there was strychnine in the house?” he asked.
“Of course I knew there was poison,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t know what kind it was, though. We had rats a couple of months ago, when it got so cold. They started in the cellar and Mrs Fennell said we had to deal with them quick. The gardener came in and helped bait the traps, and he put the packet in the scullery there so he could get it easy.”
“Who else would have known?” he said.
“Just about anyone who was in the house when the rats were there. Mrs Evans nearly had a fit the day she heard scratching coming from behind the panelling in the library; Mr Jamie had to find her smelling salts to bring her round.”
Florence’s tone showed what she thought of such behaviour.
“The only person who wasn’t there was Mrs Creed,” she continued. “The folk on the Island knew all about it too. Mrs Clevedon had some trouble with rats among her chickens. Everyone round here gets rats, from time to time. You do know that you could go into just about any house and find that stuff. It’s common.”
The Dead Woman Who Lived Page 38