by June Wright
Katherine Waring was silent. She removed her hands.
“That is what happened, Dr. Kate,” Marsh persisted. “Your husband’s death was a tragic accident. It couldn’t have been suicide or—or anything else.”
She waited anxiously for Katherine Waring to support her convictions.
“Of course you are right, Marsh,” she agreed smoothly. “Just two tragic accidents, King and Sam. Now, my dear, ask Henry to come to the library.”
Marsh left the room with a light step. Since her opinion had been endorsed without question by a highly experienced physician, who was she to doubt even her own theory that Waring’s walk was the sole contributory cause of his coma? The mere force of Katherine Waring’s personality was a counter-irritant to any uneasy stirrings below the surface of her mind.
Laurence Gair found her singularly unimpressionable when later he followed her upstairs to change for dinner.
“Marsh, my poor darling!” he murmured, sliding one hand under her unresponsive elbow. “Such a messy corpse! I am sorry I was not on hand to help you. But I believe you had more than adequate assistance with the strong silent stranger of Matthews. Who is he, and what does he here?”
“I have no idea,” the girl replied. “Excuse me, Larry, but I must dress.”
His hand slid down to her wrist. “Not yet. I want to talk to you. There are one or two points I want to bring to your notice. Remember my vow to persuade and coerce?”
“I do, but I am not interested, Larry.”
His eyes narrowed. “It becomes difficult when you are fresh from Dr. Kate’s hands. What an influence that woman has over you, you mad girl.”
“Larry, be quiet!” Marsh whispered fiercely.
“I know, I know,” he said airily. “She is my hostess. Now that King is gone I have no right to be here except on sufferance. By the way, did you observe my neat rapprochement?”
“If you mean that story you and Evelyn Peterson cooked up together at lunch—I did. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Kate called your bluff.”
He laughed softly. “She won’t dare. She’s afraid of me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s true. She’s afraid for me to stay and afraid to let me go just yet, until she finds out what I intend to do. It is an interesting situation. Now, about those points.”
Marsh jerked her hand away. “Go away. Tell Miss Peterson your bedtime stories. She should suit you better than I. Her position in this house is even odder than yours.”
“Evelyn? Oh yes, I know all about our hot-blooded Evelyn’s doings. She told me, and she is not going to budge from Reliance until she has what she wants. But whereas she wants a definite article, my desires are more nebulous.” His eyes went over her face.
Marsh pressed her mouth into a straight line. “If you are after some disgusting love-making, Larry, I am not the type.”
He laughed again. “Your attitude is an exact replica of Katherine’s, Marsh. Studied detachment faintly backed by hostility.”
Marsh opened the door of her room. “Another disparaging remark about Dr. Kate and I will dislike you even more intensely, Larry.”
She slipped into her room quickly and shut the door.
III
At dinner that night Dr. Waring sat in her usual place, pale and tired but with no change in her courteousness. She made no reference to the fresh tragedy.
It fell to Henry Arkwright, blundering in hearty sympathy, to pass some remark about Sam’s accident. He found it impossible to resist, although to whom his condolence was directed was a matter of conjecture. Unless it was to Michael, who had been glowering at his mother from the foot of the table and immediately told him savagely to shut his crude mouth. His Aunt Delia turned to Dr. Waring to demand an apology for such manners. But before Katherine Waring could speak, Betty Donne, who was waiting on the table, intervened by checking Mrs Arkwright’s sweet course. She glanced at the head of the table for approval of her opportuneness.
Michael threw down his table-napkin and left the room.
The incident passed over, but Marsh continued her search from face to face. What she was looking for she did not know; any more than she knew why she was scrutinizing each one. When she came to Laurence Gair she found him staring at her, and made a mental resolve to dodge any future tête-à-tête he might be planning.
The unpleasant proximity of table companionship was broken up by Katherine Waring’s suggestion to have coffee in the living-room, and as they all filed out Gair managed to reach Marsh’s side.
“I must talk to you,” he whispered. “Be reasonable, Marsh. There are some things you must know.”
“Larry!” Dr. Waring called. “Perhaps you will get the liqueurs from the cupboard in the library.”
“Blast the woman!” he muttered. “She did that on purpose.”
“Another night and a fire won’t be necessary,” Dr. Waring observed pleasantly. She sat down to avoid Arkwright’s heavy hand of sympathy on her shoulder.
“Why do you say that, my dear?” he asked, his bulging eyes showing an interest out of proportion to the casual remark.
“Henry, sit down here,” Delia Arkwright said, from the couch. “Kate can’t get to the coffee-table.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear. I never thought—”
“It doesn’t matter, Henry,” Dr. Waring interrupted. His extreme solicitude did not appear to irritate her. “What I meant was the weather is likely to clear. You know what Matthews is. Bleak one day and furiously hot the next. You might be able to get in some sailing before you leave.”
“Yes, yes. I suppose we must be going in a couple of days. Are you sure you wouldn’t like us to stay on board for a while, Kate? There are a few more distressing details of which I might be able to relieve you.”
She smiled faintly. “I will read the will before you and Delia go.”
Arkwright reddened. “My dear, I assure you—”
“Of course not, Henry,” she interposed again, and then as if to change the subject she asked her sister-in-law where her usual knitting was.
Mrs Arkwright replied tartly: “I never knew you were interested in knitting, Kate. I have always considered it a great pity you didn’t become more domesticated both for your own sake and for Kingsley’s,” and she directed a sidelong glance at Evelyn Peterson, who was slouched in a chair with her dinner-dress pulled up to her knees. The firelight gleamed on her slim legs. “I have mislaid one of my needles. No use looking for another in this house.”
“I know where your knitting-needle is,” Marsh said.
Henry Arkwright lunged up. “Aha! Our little pianist! I was waiting for you to speak, my dear. What about some of your excellent music? You don’t mind, Kate, do you? After all, King was very fond of music.” He was across the room as he spoke.
Marsh finished her coffee and got up. “Your husband found your needle this morning, Mrs Arkwright. He picked it up in the ti-tree.”
The lid of the piano fell back on the keys, making the strings vibrate.
Delia Arkwright turned her head. “You didn’t tell me, Henry. Where is it? Henry!”
“Coming, my dear. Now, Dr. Marsh, is the stool right for you? You are such a tall girl. I might say I like tall women.”
“You told me the other day you liked them small,” Miss Peterson drawled.
“Give ’em to me big or little,” Gair broke in cheerfully. He got up and went over to the piano. “You are making Marsh nervous,” he told Arkwright, edging him away. “Take my comfortable bunk on the port side of the fire and enjoy the music. I’ll conduct for you, Marsh.”
“It won’t be necessary,” she replied coldly. “I’d prefer to be at the piano alone.”
She bent her head and braced her fingers wide over the keys before deciding on a Bach fugue. Anything florid would be unseemly. She became interest
ed in what she was playing as the pattern of the fugue unfolded. The strong recurrent phrase which dominated the smaller patterns throughout seemed curiously applicable when translated into terms of human thought and deeds.
Gair was watching her with an uncanny awareness as she came to the end; as though he had read the same significance into the fugue. He glanced over his shoulder at the group near the fire.
“Marsh Mowbray,” he said softly. “You are a coward. You try to ignore the difficult and unpleasant.”
“Go away,” she muttered, striking a discord.
“Precisely what I mean. You are trying to avoid me because you are afraid that what I will say might cause your lulled conscience misgivings.”
“My conscience is quite clear.”
“Prove it. Listen to what I have to tell you.”
She glanced at the others. Katherine Waring’s face was in profile. “All right, Larry,” she said quietly. “What is it?”
“Good girl!” he nodded. “Keep playing and we won’t be suspected of anything more dire than flirting.”
She drifted into an idle improvised melody.
“Listen carefully, Marsh. The night you arrived at Reliance there was a discussion at the dinner-table. Kingsley made quite a speech about it.”
“I know,” she cut in. “I was in the kitchen. I heard it.”
“Smile at me, if you can. Arkwright is watching us,” Gair said. “Putting King’s speech crudely, he was threatening to denounce someone for a blunder made in his or her medical career. Sweetie, I said smile—not frown.”
“He might have meant that,” Marsh admitted, trying to remain non-committal.
“King and Dr. Kate were once in partnership. What made them break it? Choice or necessity?” He allowed time for his insidious queries to sink in before he continued.
“Now cast your mind back to the morning you found Kingsley. Do you remember me hunting everywhere for his glucose? Had King been carrying it he would never have fallen in a coma.”
“Well?” asked Marsh, meeting his gaze fully.
Gair glanced away, frowning. “Marsh, I must tell you. I’m sorry if it hurts, but Dr. Kate had his glucose. I saw King’s snuff-box on her desk this afternoon.”
“I gave the snuff-box to Dr. Kate,” the girl announced calmly.
“You’re lying,” Gair said quickly. “Stop playing the cover-up, Marsh.”
“No, Larry, I gave it to her. I found it on Sam’s body.”
“You are sure?” Gair’s eyes narrowed. “How did Sam get hold of it?” He put up one hand and rubbed his lean jaw reflectively.
Marsh relaxed and watched him in silent triumph.
“Sam,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes, Larry. Sam,” the girl said. “I told you you were wasting your time.”
“Am I!” he exclaimed, in an undertone. “Listen, my stubborn darling, not only was the unfortunate Sam a half-wit, but he also had the habit of lifting any bright or attractive object he saw. Kleptomaniac is a harsh word to pile on to half-wit, but Sam was the nearest approach to one I have ever seen.”
“You can’t blame an imbecile for the effects of his mischief,” Marsh said, in an effort to retain the initiative.
“No,” he agreed swiftly, “but you can blame the person who exercised a strong influence over a weak-brained boy.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned nearer, speaking rapidly. “Katherine Waring could make Sam do anything she wanted. She had him trained like an animal. You said something about her calling my bluff, but I am going to get in first.”
“Larry,” Marsh whispered with anxiety. “Don’t! Please don’t say any more.” She put one hand on his, as it rested on the piano lid. His knuckles tensed under her fingers as though to hold her touch.
“The arts and wiles of your sex. No, my sweet, not even for that. She is not worth that beautiful stubborn loyalty of yours.”
The girl withdrew her hand swiftly and gave him a look of hate. “You can do your damnedest,” she muttered, and began to play heavy sombre chords.
Gair straightened up. “How apt, Marsh,” he observed cynically. “The death-scene music will improve the atmosphere.”
Katherine Waring’s head had turned sharply and there were startled expressions on the other faces, but she did not care. Gair moved across the room. He was smiling faintly, with perfect command of himself and of the situation he had precipitated. He even paused to pour himself a drink.
“Dr. Waring,” he said, coming nearer with glass in hand. “I have been thinking for some time now about the tragic accident which took place today. We, of the medical profession, are inclined to ignore certain factors. We are so accustomed to dealing in terms of life and death that unconsciously we sometimes take the law into our own hands.”
Katherine Waring was quite calm. “Yes, Larry? What are you trying to say?”
“A member of your household met with a fatal accident,” he said bluntly. “Tomorrow I understand he is to be buried along with King. I consider that the police should be informed first.”
Marsh’s fingers, spread on the keys, became suddenly powerless. Her foot was pressed on the sustaining pedal, so that the one chord vibrated through the room. A long silence followed Gair’s announcement. Dr. Waring sat like a statue, and as inflexible. Arkwright’s mouth had fallen open and his eyes protruded. Evelyn Peterson had sat upright suddenly and remained with her knees held high and her feet not touching the ground.
Delia Arkwright was the first to speak. “Well, Katherine? I trust you owe it to Kingsley’s memory to keep scandal away from his name? Dr. Gair, your suggestion is in very bad taste.”
“Preposterous!” Arkwright exploded at last. “The idea!”
Into Evelyn’s eyes flashed a tiny look of fear. She tried to laugh. “Really, Larry! How melodramatic of you!”
“Do you really think so, my dear? Dr. Kate, what about it?”
Katherine Waring’s body seemed to relax. Without turning her head she said, “Please go on playing, Marsh.”
Then she gestured with one hand as though to calm the others. She answered Gair with a cold courtesy. “You need have no worry, Larry. Whatever others may do, I still consider the ethics of our profession—and the law. I spoke to Walker this afternoon after I had examined Sam in Henry’s presence. I also communicated the facts to Simon Morrow, and an inquest has been arranged for early in the morning. Marsh, you will be needed as a witness.”
The girl released her gripping fingers and let her hands fall into her lap. “Very well, Dr. Kate.”
Gair said: “I see. Then there is nothing more to be said. The local constable and the coroner will trust your judgment implicitly. “
She inclined her head without speaking. There was an edge of sarcasm in Gair’s voice which escaped no one.
He went to the door. “I beg pardon for causing such a furore. I might have guessed Dr. Waring would make no mistake.” He looked at Marsh as he stressed the last word.
The feeling Gair left behind him was uncomfortable. But beyond Delia Arkwright asking when he was going back to town, nothing was said.
Marsh shut the piano and got up. “I think I’ll go to bed,” she announced abruptly. “Good night, everyone. Good night, Dr. Kate.”
She did not notice Katherine Waring’s warm personal smile this time.
IV
The passage was dark as she felt her way to the stairs. The lamp on the bottom newel had burned low, and she had to trace her way across the foot of the stairs to the table where the candles were kept. A warm draught of air reached her as she felt in the drawer. She swung round quickly.
The door of the kitchen was open, and Michael Waring stood on its warm glowing threshold. He was swaying slightly and surveyed her with a dull concentration.
“I wanted you,” he said, and h
is voice was thick. “I wanted to tell you something important.”
“You’re drunk again,” Marsh said, in disgust. “You haven’t been really sober all day.”
“’Course I’m drunk,” he declared arbitrarily. “Who wouldn’t be drunk? Everybody is drunk in this house. But with me it is whisky. I am not drunk on blood.”
Marsh lit her candle and took a step up the stairs.
The boy stumbled forward. “Stop a minute, damn you. Something to tell you. I’ve been thinking.”
“You are in no condition to speak, let alone to think,” Marsh replied. “Wait until you sober up, and then think before you speak.”
Young Waring was in an ugly mood. He tried to heave himself at her, but the girl slipped up the stairs quickly. She looked down on him from the top. He was hanging on to the banister with both hands.
“Drunk on blood, that’s what. Drunk on blood,” he repeated in a rising tone.
Marsh went into her room and shut the door. She was trembling and the candle-flame wavered as she lit the lamp on the bedside-table. The grotesque shadows on the walls faded as the spirit caught fire. She sat down on the bed, her head in her hands. Her fingers ran through and through her short curly hair, trying to ease the thoughts in her mind.
For a long time she sat there, her brain twisting and turning as it tried to evade, reject and explain in bewildering rotation. Now and then footsteps sounded along the passage outside her room and doors were opened and shut. Minutes went by and then the last of the footsteps went by Marsh’s room. They hesitated for a moment outside her door, and she raised her head. She jumped up when they continued on to the far end of the passage, and eased a crack in the door just in time to see Katherine Waring enter her own bedroom.
She shut the door again and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes wearily. A deep silence had fallen on the house. It was broken once by the sound of running water from the room adjoining her own, and then it settled again uninterruptedly.