The Dead Woman Who Lived

by Endellion Palmer

  “Can you talk now, Damaris?” he asked gently.

  She nodded. “You really don’t think it was an accident, do you?” she asked. “That’s why the police are back? Someone tried to kill my brother?”

  Adrien was by the fireplace. “We can’t find any trace of a bottle or anything that might have contained a sedative. If Jamie took it himself, then there should be some trace of how he did so,” he said slowly.

  She shuddered, looking gratefully at Helena as the girl took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Why did you go through to his room?” Alistair asked.

  He had wondered this. If she had known that Jamie was napping after lunch, why had she risked disturbing him? She looked up and wrinkled her nose. After the events of the afternoon, lunch felt like a lifetime ago.

  “I heard a noise, about ten minutes after I left him and went to my own room. Like something had fallen on the floor—I wondered if he was all right. Since Mother died, his nightmares have come back. I’ve had to go in to him a number of times. But I didn’t go through immediately. I thought perhaps his book had dropped off onto the floor, something like that.”

  “There was a book on the floor by the bed,” remembered Juliana. “I pushed it out of the way when we were… dealing with him.”

  “Perhaps that was it. I settled back down, but then I got a feeling that something was wrong. Sixth sense, perhaps. I should have gone through earlier!”

  “This was not your fault, Damaris,” said Adrien, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Your actions saved his life.”

  Alistair added his own agreement to this, then stood up and addressed them all.

  “The police are going to be looking at who might have had access to the bathroom where the chloral was. And to Jamie himself. That will include everyone here, plus everyone from the Island. Willett has forbidden anyone from leaving town.” He paused. “Has Simon been round today?”

  Damaris and Juliana both turned on him, indignant outrage writ large on their faces. Helena looked astonished.

  “I have to ask,” said Alistair. “The police will. Someone who knows Jamie gave him an overdose of a sedative that almost killed him. Probably chloral hydrate. Jamie took his coffee black and sweet, and it was strong too. Easiest way to disguise it. Either that, or something was left in his room, and Jamie took it, for whatever reason. The house has been searched and there is no trace of a bottle of chloral anywhere. Even though there should have been.”

  He paced a little, in front of the fire. Juliana poured another cup of tea for Damaris and insisted that she take it.

  “Simon was here for a short time this morning,” she said finally. “While you were over at the farm. He sat with Jamie for a while, then left before lunch. He went to help Daphne with the fruit cage in the garden; the thing collapsed recently. And Inspector Willett knows he was here; he saw him arrive.”

  Damaris sipped at her tea, then added more sugar.

  “It couldn’t have happened during lunch?” she asked.

  “I think it was most likely in his coffee,” Alistair replied. “During luncheon would have been impossible, if Jamie was indeed the intended victim.”

  He could see the panic and anger on their faces as they heard what he said, and then agreement as they realised that he was correct. There was no way that Jamie could have been poisoned during luncheon. They had all drunk soup from the same tureen, and eaten some of the fish pie, again served from the same dish. Impossible to poison fruit and cheese, so Alistair was correct, it must have been post-luncheon.

  “If it was put in his coffee, then there’s those who were here over lunch. We all took coffee together afterwards, in the library. So we have to consider all of us, and the servants, too. Ada brought in the tray and poured out, and Mrs Fennell came back with the sugar, which had been forgotten.”

  “But Simon wasn’t here for lunch,” added Helena.

  Alistair pointed across the room.

  “We also have the library window, which Simon may well know about. And there are signs that someone has, at some point recently, been out of Jamie’s window via the apple tree. The moss has been dislodged, and it wouldn’t take more than a long arm to swing out there. Knowing Jamie, it’s extremely likely that it was him, but we can’t rule out that someone else came in that way.”

  Adrien groaned. “And the doors are left unlocked during the day,” he replied. “It would not be beyond belief that someone could enter the house and make his or her way unseen to the bedrooms. Or even hide, for a short period of time. The house is old, and built well. Sound doesn’t travel. If you knew the house, it could be done. Not easily, but it could be done. And desperate times mean desperate measures.”

  Adrien looked pained as he spoke, and Mags opened her mouth to protest again, but Juliana spoke first, defiance clear in her words.

  “Simon would be the last person on earth to do this. He told me the other day that Jamie saved his life in France, pushed him out of the way of a sniper. Simon saved me, too, in the quarry. If he hadn’t risked himself climbing down to get me, I would have died. He refused to bear arms during the War and was roundly censured for doing so. If he wouldn’t kill someone in the middle of a war, when his life might depend upon it, he’s not going to start now!”

  Juliana was strident in her dismissal of the idea. Damaris just stared at Alistair, the last of the colour leaching from her skin.

  “No, Simon would not do this,” she said woodenly. “You don’t understand…”

  She broke off and looked harassed.

  “Don’t understand what?” asked Alistair.

  She shook her head, hair flying. She looked wretched. “It’s just impossible,” she said. “Jamie’s the last person in the world Simon would hurt. You need to look elsewhere.”

  Adrien suddenly brightened and looked around.

  “Well, one good thing. We can get Florence back now.”

  Damaris looked at him wearily, but the others caught his meaning.

  “Of course. Even that inspector can’t suspect her of poisoning Jamie from a jail cell,” said Helena.

  Adrien got to his feet and started towards the door. “He may try to say she can still be involved, but I think without definite proof, he can’t hold her any longer. I’m going to enjoy this,” he said and walked swiftly to the front door.

  With a smirk, Helena ran after him, and despite the gravity of the situation, Juliana could not help but enjoy imagining the forthcoming showdown between Helena and Willett. They heard the Alvis roar to life and take off down the drive. He and Helena returned an hour or so later, with a still defiant Florence between them.

  “I’m so sorry this happened, Florence,” said Juliana as they hustled her inside and to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

  “That stupid man! He was that cross, though, when Mr Creed and Miss Clevedon came in! You should have seen the look on his face!”

  Juliana was glad that the girl was made of such strong stuff. Jinty Fennell took one look at her charge and immediately swept into action.

  “Nice cup of tea,” she dictated, “and then bed for the rest of the day! Ada will bring your dinner up to you on a tray when you have had a bath.”

  Florence gave a tired grin and Juliana felt a pang as she watched the girl taken through to the staff quarters. She looked very young and fragile, despite her obvious strength of mind. Knowing that Jinty had everything in order, she took herself back upstairs. Bob had gone back to the surgery for a while, and Damaris was sitting with her brother. What had happened earlier seemed to have jolted her out of the strange mood she had been in after the death of her mother, and she was as loving with Jamie as ever. His eyes were shut and he still looked pale as his bedlinen, but one look at his sister told Juliana that all was well.

  “He’s roused a couple of times,” she murmured. “I’m waiting for him to wake up enough to talk.”

  “Can I help?”

  “There’s nothing else but to wait,” Damaris replied.
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br />   “Then I shall bring some cocoa and we can wait together.”

  The two women sat together in silence, sipping at the hot drink and even managing to nibble on the biscuits that had accompanied the cups. Finally there was movement from the bed and they turned in unison, hurrying over to find Jamie slowly rousing.

  “What happened?” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

  “You’ve been very sick, Jamie,” said Damaris. His forehead was clammy, so she wrung out a cloth in the bowl of fresh water on his bedside table and wiped his face.

  “My throat…” he began, then coughed. It hurt him, and he moaned. Juliana poured some water into a clean glass and held it for him. He took a sip or two, then lay back and closed his eyes.

  “Jamie, did you put something in your coffee after lunch?” Juliana asked gently. “Something to make you sleep, perhaps?”

  He opened his eyes slowly, looking puzzled. “I left my coffee downstairs,” he whispered. “Forgot my cup. Went to get it.”

  “Where did you leave it?”

  He had to think about this. “Hall table. Why?”

  “Don’t bother yourself with it,” reassured Damaris. “You’ve had a bad time, old thing. Rest as much as you can. I will be here when you wake up.”

  He fell back into a more natural sleep with this, and Juliana took the news that Jamie had roused back to the library. Helena was overjoyed and took the afternoon’s news back to the Island.

  “He’s not talking much,” said Juliana. “But he managed to say that he went upstairs after lunch and forgot his coffee. He had put the cup on the table in the hall.”

  “That doesn’t leave much time for someone to poison it,” said Adrien.

  Alistair looked over.

  “I went into the library just a while ago,” he said. “There’s another glass by the drinks tray. I think he may have been downstairs longer than we think. What if he went into the library and had another whisky? That would mean the coffee cup was left unattended for longer. Perhaps ten to fifteen minutes. Long enough for someone to drop the chloral in, if they didn’t manage it before we all disbanded from the library after lunch. It can’t have been in the whisky itself. You drank some and were fine.”

  “And he hates lukewarm coffee, so when he got up to his room, he just tipped it back quickly, while it was still reasonably hot,” groaned Adrien. “With the liquor and the chloral together… dear God, it’s lucky Damaris went through.”

  Alistair considered this. He wondered about her intervention. The timing was immaculate. Any longer and he would have been beyond saving. Could Damaris be behind it all? She could have pushed Juliana three years ago, knowing that there was money in the will for herself and Jamie. He knew enough of her to suspect that she would do just about anything for her brother. But murder? She was capable of it, he thought. Calm and focussed. Strong in body, used to emergency, capable of a great deal of self-control. But she seemed to genuinely love Juliana, and to have been pleased at her marriage to Adrien.

  Despite a clear disaffection for her mother, he was unsure that she would actually go so far as to poison the woman. Someone had said that under the carapace she had built over the years to defend herself from the rejection shown her by Fancy, she was still a soft and loving girl. It was a huge step from dislike to murder, especially such a brutal and painful one. And as for Jamie, he found it hard to believe that she could hurt him. From what he had seen, Damaris would have willingly died for her brother, and he thought the same would be true in reverse. They were devoted to one another, pouring the love that was not welcome to their mother to each other.

  But if he could not see Damaris deliberately risking the life of her brother, even slightly, perhaps the two were working together. Perhaps together they had found the encouragement each had needed to commit such a heinous act. Damaris could have covered the pushing of Juliana. She had been right here, in the house, that night. No one had seen her from just after dinner time, when she had left Adrien and Juliana arguing in the study, and gone to her room. Both would benefit from the will. Although it seemed that she had not needed the money, Jamie had definitely used his.

  In that case, had the poisoning been a simple error, down to the accidental breakage that morning? One or other had slipped into the library and dropped the poison into the wrong decanter. He thought that neither of them had been expecting Fancy’s death. Jamie had so completely collapsed that it was unthinkable that he had intended his mother to die. In that case, then, why had Jamie been poisoned? Had it been a smokescreen? A plot hatched by the two to shift suspicion? In that case, perhaps the dosage had just been a little wrong. It wouldn’t have taken much. A drop too much, and leaving her intervention a couple of minutes too late. It might work.

  And yet he had seen the confusion on Damaris face, the horror that she might lose her brother. She had been terrified, but there had been no guilt, he would bet upon it. It had been a genuine fear for his life, in which case someone else was responsible. But whom?

  Chapter 27

  The attack on Jamie seemed to have cleared Damaris’ mind. Gone was the jumpy, odd behaviour, the snapping and the preference for solitude. She was tender and solicitous of her brother and would not leave his side unless Juliana took her place. She sat with him all night, napping in the armchair, just as he had done with Simon during the storm.

  In all the distress of the previous day’s events, Juliana had forgotten to mention Inspector Willett’s visit of the previous morning, and his inspection of the side corridor and the library window. She remembered it when she went through the hall to breakfast, and mentioned it to Alistair as she poured coffee for them both.

  “That’s the first time the inspector has been interested in our coats since I told him what brought back my memory,” she said, unsure whether to be triumphant or alarmed.

  “Well, he’s been forced into it, really,” mused Alistair, stirring sugar into his cup, “unless he subscribes to Mrs Evans having committed suicide. And I don’t think Inspector Willett really believed that, even without the attack on Jamie.”

  A wry smile passed around the table.

  “He didn’t say much, but he had a real poke round,” said Juliana, pursing her mouth as she recollected their conversation. “Well, good luck to him. I suppose he’ll be going around looking into cloakrooms all over town now.”

  As he said this, Alistair thought of something and turned to Adrien. “Simon never wears one,” he commented. “A coat, I mean.”

  Adrien looked at him and shrugged, bemused at the question. “Not from lack of anyone trying to give him one, believe me. Don’t get Daphne going on the subject of Simon’s clothes or you’ll never get away. But you are right. He’s worn that guernsey the last couple of winters. The thing is about as windproof as it is possible to get. Before that he had a coat, I think.”

  He looked troubled as the reason for the question came to him. Juliana narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

  “It was just an ordinary overcoat, from what I remember of it,” Adrien said, “but I suppose it was similar to mine.”

  Alistair braced himself for more questioning, but the phone rang and Adrien excused himself to take the call. Juliana was distracted by the dog, who started barking somewhere in the back of the house. Alistair was relieved. He did not want another conversation with Juliana and her accusatory stares. He realised that she had taken Simon Cundy firmly under her wing, and he doubted that anything short of a confession chiselled in stone would convince her otherwise.

  His mind whirling with questions, he left the house himself and drove into town, pulling up outside Vickery House just as a flock of women in what were clearly best hats were leaving. He stood back to let them exit the garden, seeing the intense interest on their faces. They knew who he was, like Minnie Sercombe had the other day, and he had no doubt of the main topic of conversation as they marched home.

  He walked around the side of the house and found Jean in the kitchen, directing Edna in the wa
shing up. Jean welcomed him with a tired smile and poured him a cup of tea without asking.

  “You just missed the WI delegation,” she sighed. “Time to organise the summer fete again this year, and for good form’s sake I am supposed to be a part of it. It’s ridiculous, really. Between that lot, they could have organized a way out of the Great War in a couple of weeks, given half a chance.”

  The laughter died on her face as she remembered the events of the last few days.

  “It seems dreadful to be laughing, when Fancy is to be buried and poor Jamie nearly died too,” she said.

  “Human nature,” Alistair replied calmly as she took her own cup and sat next to him. “I think it is the only way we manage to keep going. Anyone who was in the trenches, for example, will tell you that laughter was not altogether absent. Just so that for a short while, one was not thinking of death and mud.”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “Did you need something in particular, Alistair?”

  “It’s about Simon. Did he ever have a wool overcoat?” asked Alistair. “I know he hasn’t worn one for a while.”

  Jean thought about that, wrinkling her brow. “He did have an overcoat at one time,” she said slowly. “He bought it at the WI jumble sale years ago, when he was still on the move a lot. We had a minor disagreement over its purchase. I told him that I was going to purchase it for him, because I was fed up with him wandering around looking cold all the time. He sulked and ran off. I went back to buy it later on and it was gone. Minnie told me that Simon had bought it himself.”

  A fond smile crossed her lips.

  “He still has a lot of pride. He can get offended easily. But it turned out I was right to press him—he did wear it a lot that winter, and the next.”

  She gave a gasp as she realised where the conversation was heading. Her face tightened, and two spots of red appeared on her cheeks. Alistair realised that, like Juliana, Jean considered Simon Cundy under her protection.