She Shoots to Conquer

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Then please don’t.”

  “Of course you can’t bear to think it, but there’s no getting round it that she’s had her knife into Judy from the beginning. I doubt you’ll get Livonia and Molly to admit what they’re thinking but…”

  “Alice, you’ve been awfully good about helping with the beds. I do appreciate it, but…”

  “You’d like me out of here.” She paused in the doorway, bundling back up the forever falling hair. “Look, you’re the only one who really knows Roxie, so who’s most likely to be right? Why not get some shut-eye before Judy is brought up? I’m going to lie down myself and think about not becoming the next Belfrey bride. According to Molly, who heard it from Livonia, who heard it from Dr. Rowley, the Master of Mucklesfeld seems likely to make his pick the old-fashioned way.”

  When the door closed behind her it hit me that I was holed up, skulking from Mrs. Malloy, who needed me more than at any time in our relationship. Three words into talking to her, she would have known for sure I was acting solo on a hunch. Something I would never have done, but for her being suspected by some of deliberately shooting Judy. Until I was proved right or wrong, it seemed kinder in the long run to keep my own counsel. And the same seemed true when it came to considering my obligation to warn Judy. I did not allow myself to focus on the entirely likely possibility that the killer would not obligingly step forward as I both hoped and feared. One thing of which I was confident was that Mrs. Malloy would not pay me a visit once Judy was with me. In fact, knowing what the situation was to be, as she had surely learned by now, would explain why she had not yet marched in upon me. Astute though she is, wounded feelings mount rapidly to unreasoning huffiness with Mrs. Malloy, which interestingly was one of the things that touched me most about her.

  The person who came in next was Livonia, looking radiantly pretty, despite her opening words being an expression of regret over Judy’s ordeal, followed by the information she knew would hurt, despite my need to know.

  “I went with Tommy,” the name curved lovingly on her lips, “to take dear Thumper back to his owners. Mrs. Spuds gave us directions-she seems such a lovely person, those kind blue eyes and beautiful white hair. Oh, Ellie, I do wish you could keep that dear dog. He so obviously believes he belongs with you. Tommy had tears in his eyes when we talked about it. He’s wonderfully sensitive. And terribly upset about the skeleton. But how could he have known how Georges would dress it up? Or that… that I would be one of those to see it?”

  “I knew you shouldn’t be cross with him.”

  “Oh, dear, dear, Ellie!” She perched on the bed in the main room. “He’s so caring of my feelings. I’ve never been this happy in my life. Don’t you think he’s the dearest man and such a clever doctor? Wasn’t it amazing how quickly he diagnosed Judy’s sprained ankle?”

  “He is perfect.” Her joy was so contagious, all else fled my mind for the moment. “Perfect for you. And you and Mrs. Spuds will be the best of friends, and you’ll get a couple of cats you and Tommy will both dote on and have friends, including Lord Belfrey, over for Sunday lunch and everyone will say the Rowleys are what Grimkirk should be all about.”

  “His lordship confided in Tommy-isn’t it wonderful to think of them growing close?-that he isn’t going on with Here Comes the Bride. Not only did that free Tommy so he could speak honorably of his longing to marry me, he also thinks that something has happened to transform his cousin into a blissfully happy man. I know it has to be very disappointing for the other contestants, but I can’t help believing that even for them it is all for the best. To marry without love…” She sat staring dreamily into space.

  “Let’s hope something splendid happens to each of them,” I was saying, when edging in sideways came her beloved and mine carrying Judy between them in a linked armlift. She looked quite chirpy in her seated position, but I noted the shadows under her eyes and the twitch of the mouth that suggested she was battling pain. As I had expected, she insisted on taking the bed in the cubbyhole, saying she would be cozily cocooned in there. To have tried to persuade her otherwise would have delayed getting her into bed, which Livonia and I accomplished as soon as the men left. Ben had smiled at me in a way that at that moment felt more enveloping than an embrace, before saying he would send a meal up in half an hour, although Judy might be asleep by then as a result of the tablets Tommy had given her.

  “I wouldn’t worry if she’s not awake to eat; what she needs most is rest. What happened must have been a severe shock to her system,” whispered Livonia, sounding very much a doctor’s wife when we returned to the bigger space after spreading the bedclothes gently over Judy and folding back a triangle to leave the injured foot uncovered.

  “Thanks for the help and the shared confidences,” I said.

  “Oh, I do hope you’ll stay in touch.” The hug she gave me had a warmth I would never have expected from the frozen creature she had been on first meeting. “I want so much to go on being friends.”

  “So do I, Livonia; already you feel like a close pal.”

  She blinked tearily. “Promise to fetch me if you need help of any kind with Judy, getting her to bathroom or just someone else to talk to her? Remember, I’m just a few steps away. And do try to get some rest yourself, I know you have to be worried about Mrs. Malloy. She has to be feeling under a cloud because of,” lowering her voice, “not liking Judy, but I believe she was telling the truth about not being the one who shot that arrow, deliberately or otherwise. She’s your friend and that’s enough for me.”

  “Out,” I said, edging her toward the door. “You’re so dear you’ll have me bawling if you stay a moment longer. Go to Tommy and fall into his arms, you deservedly lucky girl.”

  “I only wish that Molly, with that awful Mrs. Knox as a mother, can end up as happy. Mummy could be controlling in that plaintive way of hers, but if I’d had a talent for ballet and it had been my grand passion as is the case with Molly, I think she would have been proud enough to have encouraged me instead of saying that a lump of a girl would be booed offstage. Oh, I do hope someone can wave a magic wand for her, and for Judy and Alice, who also have their very special gifts. Okay, Ellie! I’m leaving before you toss me out.”

  Of course the moment she was gone, I selfishly wished her back; a peek into the cubbyhole showed Judy to be asleep, breathing evenly and otherwise revealing no sign of restlessness. It was still early-only six fifteen-and the evening stretched endlessly ahead. Ben would come whether or not he was the one to bring up the meal. Mrs. Foot, Mr. Plunket, and Boris might insist on doing that, but in either case he would not linger talking because of risking disturbing Judy.

  Half an hour later, Tommy put in a return appearance to check on the patient. He nodded in a satisfied way and left a couple of tablets with me that he said I should give to her at ten if she woke up, but not to disturb her if she slept on. I was struck by his new aplomb, but the boyish beam was very much in evidence when telling me he was taking Livonia back to his home for dinner.

  “Mrs. Spuds is preparing something special and will stay to observe the proprieties,” he added earnestly. “As Livonia may have told you, she was not treated with greatest respect by a man named Harold, and I intend to proceed gently with her.”

  Not too gently, I hoped. On his departure I put the tablets in a little dish on the chair and picked up the book that still had me on chapter one. It was by an author who was new to me and I hadn’t found it particularly gripping, but it might take off in the next fifty or so pages. I was on the bed, having read no more than three pages, when Ben came through the door empty-handed.

  “Judy sleeping?” he asked in a hushed voice, with an eye to the cubbyhole.

  I nodded up at him.

  “Sweetheart,” he continued to whisper, “when I said I’d bring up the tray for you and Judy, Mrs. Foot looked close to tears.”

  Being a woman capable of compassion, I refrained from saying that must have been a gruesome sight.

  “She we
nt on about having snapped at you earlier.”

  “That,” I too kept my voice way down, “is an understatement; but she was under stress. Thumper chased Whitey up Boris’s trousers, and from the sound of it he’s going to need thrice weekly sessions with a psychiatrist.”

  “Boris?”

  “Whitey.” Poor Thumper…

  “My poor Ellie,” he bent and kissed my cheek, “was it a terrible wrench parting with him?”

  “Yes, but I have to accept that he isn’t mine. Speaking of low spirits, is Georges in the dumps now that Lord Belfrey has decided not to continue with Here Comes the Bride? Or hadn’t you heard about that?”

  Ben whispered that he had, and from what was being floated around, it sounded as though congratulations might be in order anyway. Was that an assessing glance he was giving me?

  “That leaves me heartbroken.” For a moment I forgot to whisper. “I’ve always relished having a man enjoy looking at me because I remind him of the woman he loves. Oh, all right! I admit to being flattered. He’s handsome and if a woman doesn’t have some ego, she’s dead. But would I want to put him in a shopping bag and take him home? The answer is no. He doesn’t make me laugh or want to throw things at him. And I doubt he can boil an egg. Now go before you wake Judy.”

  “I’ve had terrible pangs of jealousy.” He stroked my hair.

  “Well, think of some way to make it up to me-some wonderful present, although I can’t for the moment think of anything I desperately want.”

  “Can’t you?” Ben said on his way out the door.

  I picked up my book and had read another page and a half during what length of time I did not know-my mind having wandered so far afield that I hadn’t checked my watch-when my next visitor, the least welcome by far, arrived. Mrs. Foot with a loaded tray.

  “Let me help you with that-it looks heavy,” I said, jumping up.

  “Mr. Plunket came down with a headache.” She allowed me to take the tray from her and watched me place it on the bed. “It’s taking up the drink after being off it so long, but I’ll get him sorted once Mucklesfeld is back to itself again.”

  “I’m sure. Judy’s sleeping.”

  “Is she now?” No attempt at lowering her voice. “Best thing for her, I’m sure she’ll be fine in the morning. After all, in the scheme of things, what’s a sprained ankle? If she’d watched where she fell, it shouldn’t have happened. When I picture dear Boris swinging from one trapeze to another and never a stubbed toe, bless him, my heart melts.”

  One thing to be said for Mrs. Foot, I always felt dainty as a buttercup in her presence. “How is Boris?”

  “Gone to bed like I said he must. A right shock he got, being attacked by that dog.”

  “Did he have Dr. Rowley take a look at his arm?”

  “What, go making a fuss? That’s not my Boris! Never a thought for his self when there’s others to be worried about. It’s Whitey he’s thinking on, wondering if the dear wee fellow will ever be quite right in the head again after the fright he took.”

  “How’s Mr. Plunket?”

  “Been crying his eyes out from going back on the bottle; got him tucked in with a hot-water bottle.”

  Preferably one that didn’t leak.

  “Anyway,” Mrs. Foot finally got to it, “I’m sorry I flared at you like I did this afternoon and me usually so sunny. I realized soon as you went off in a huff that it really wasn’t your fault. The dog isn’t yours; though you can’t say you haven’t encouraged him to hang around. I hope you’ll eat your meal in the spirit it was brought up in and drink the tea I put in a thermos to keep warm, though as Mr. Plunket and Boris always say, one of my cups tastes just as good cold, even better often as not. Milk and sugar’s already in. And there’s orange juice in a glass for the invalid if she has to take more of those tablets Dr. Rowley will have left for her.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Foot,” I said meekly, “and no hard feelings on either side, I hope.”

  A noticeable thawing. “That’s nice of you to say. I’m sure I wish you and the lady sleeping in there,” eyes shifting toward the cubbyhole, “nothing but the best. And now I’m off-back down to my boys, the dear loves! And once I see they’re well settled, I sit down for a nice cuddle with Whitey. Nothing better than a mum’s love for putting things right if it can be done.”

  Upon her none too soon departure, I sized up the tray. Ben had very sensibly sent up a meal intended to be served cold-containers of fruit, a leafy salad, asparagus vinaigrette, slivered ham, eggs mayonnaise, and crusty bread. Enough for two; there was a second plate, should Judy wake and wish to eat. Best of all, he had made another chocolate orange gateau. The Chantilly cream had been spread instead of piped into rosettes, but I wasn’t inclined to be the least picky.

  Needless to say, I wasn’t about to drink Mrs. Foot’s tea. Neither did I think the orange juice the wisest accompaniment to the pills should Judy wake and need them. Heaven only knew what was floating in it. So before starting my meal, I tiptoed rapidly down to the bathroom, emptied out both thermos and glass, and having replaced the former with water, returned as fast as I could to my room. My attempt at silence was mainly due to a concern that Mrs. Malloy-a sliver of light had shown under her door-would come out to see if the patter of feet were mine.

  Once safely reinstalled, I checked on Judy, found her still sleeping with apparent soundness, and settled down to my meal. Determined on keeping up my strength for what the night might bring, I ate heartily-enjoying every morsel, especially of the two slices of gateau I didn’t feel it wrong to take as my share, since there was still one good-sized piece left for Judy. Covering the plate I had arranged for her with a napkin, I placed it on the chair with the empty thermos and glass, made sure the little dish with the pills was securely positioned, and then put the tray with its remaining contents outside the door. Ben, I was sure, would return for it and assume I preferred him not to come in because of Judy.

  My face stretched into a yawn as I unwrapped the one treat I’d bought myself in Yorkshire. How long ago the visit to Tom and Betty’s now seemed as I lifted the heavy… oh so heavy… bronze candlestick and trolled back to the bed to place it under the pillow… which seemed to shift shape in the most peculiar way. Indeed. How long ago and far away everything seemed. Slapping my face with flopping hands, I came back to myself sufficiently to decide I was giving way to panic. A sound from Judy roused my ministering instincts. I found her half awake and clearly in pain from the ankle. Staggering to the chair which served as a chest, I sloshed water from the thermos into the glass, picked up the tablets, and managed to accomplish my Florence Nightingale turn without falling on top of her. I think she thanked me, she would have, must have done-that was Judy, although who Judy was or why she was in Ben’s bed became less clear by the second. The next I knew… and that groggily… was that I was on my bed and after that… swirling darkness, drawing me down, down into nothingness.

  Afterwards, I was to reflect wryly on how I’d felt rather smug when getting rid of the beverages, but they hadn’t contained the crushed sleeping pills. For all Mrs. Foot’s pride in her lovely cup of tea, she must have doubted my proper appreciation, so she had doctored the Chantilly cream instead. Something I should have suspected by the lack of rosettes, which had required flattening out in the process. If Judy had eaten a slice, all the better. Mrs. Foot had used the tablets that Dr. Rowley had prescribed for her when she’d told him she was having trouble sleeping and that she’d held on to in case of need. Life always offered the unexpected and it was best to be prepared.

  She admitted all this to the police, in the early hours of the next morning, along with a great deal more-that she had smothered Suzanne Varney’s father, Mr. Codger, as well as several other of the difficult patients during her days as a ward maid at Shady Oaks. It was Livonia’s mentioning that Tommy had helped out there during his summer holidays that jolted my memory of where Mrs. Foot had worked. But unfortunately not until I was sitting in Lord Belfrey’s st
udy that afternoon had I pictured her nosing around in there shortly before the contestants were due to arrive and coming across Suzanne’s photo.

  “A proper start of surprise, it gave me,” she told the police in wounded fashion. As they recorded in her statement.

  Suzanne had had concerns about Mrs. Foot for some time, and on her father’s death, insisted to the administrator that she be investigated.

  “Such a fuss about one old man… well, yes, there were others, helped on the way to a better place. Not that there was any proof, I’d been that careful, but I wasn’t going to stay around to be looked at funny every time I came into one of the wards with my lovely trolley. It seemed best just not to show up again. So, out of a job and forced to live in the streets it was, but always the silver lining, it was there I met dear Mr. Plunket and sweet Boris. And now here we were landed on our feet, happy as larks at Mucklesfeld, and now she was coming… bound to go telling stories to his nibs so that he’d decide-lovely though he is-that the three of us would have to go.”

  So much I had guessed. The use of the torch to lure Suzanne down into the ravine, the concern that it had been dropped and lost in the fog, Mr. Plunket’s early search for it the next morning, Boris’s similar attempts to find it-yes, it turned out to be he who had been watching from a strategic vantage point among the trees when I stood debating whether to follow Thumper down on his scramble. And then Judy coming up from the ravine this afternoon and going almost immediately into the house to hand over the torch she had found. Its having been discovered in the ravine wasn’t likely to seriously interest the police. But it wasn’t the police that mattered; it was the sad thought that his nibs might wonder who had removed the torch from his drawer and put two and two together. If life was to continue happily, Judy must be disposed of before she could talk, and the chances seemed good that she wouldn’t bring the matter up during the archery contest. That oh so convenient contest! She hadn’t died, yet even then all was not lost. The injured ankle was bound to put so trivial a find out of her mind for the immediate future. And Mrs. Foot set great store by Dr. Rowley’s sleeping tablets.