by J F Straker
‘I’m terribly sorry, Anne,’ she said quietly.
‘What are you doing here, Diana?’ asked Colin, surprised. ‘I thought you were spending the weekend at the cottage.’
‘I am. But Chris told me the news on the phone, and I cycled over. I thought there might be something I could do to help. They haven’t found J.C. yet, have they?’
Colin shook his head. Diana accepted a cigarette and a light from Chris and sat down, crossing her shapely legs. ‘You won’t want to stay on at the Lodge, Anne, will you?’ she said. ‘You can move in with me if you don’t mind a squeeze.’
‘It’s sweet of you, Diana — but Mrs Latimer said I could have the sickroom for the present. I slept there last night. I’m sorry about your spoilt weekend, though. There’s nothing you can do nothing any of us can do, unfortunately — and it seems such a shame to have cycled all that way for nothing.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s only four miles, and the exercise does me good. I’m getting fat. I’ll go back after tea.’
‘Why not stay now you’re here?’ asked Colin. ‘It would save you the ride tomorrow morning.’
‘No, I must go back. I haven’t tidied up or anything. When I heard the news I just hopped on the bike and came.’
James returned with the boys, and once more the school came to life. But none of the four had duties to perform, and they sat long over tea. Diana did most of the talking. She was sympathetic towards Anne, but cheerful and matter-of-fact. ‘At least you won’t have to worry about money,’ she said. ‘Believe me, that’s a happy thought for a single girl. It’s a happy thought for a married one too,’ she added, with a sly glance at Colin. ‘And for her husband.’
Colin frowned. It was a tactless remark, he thought.
It was nearly dark when Diana rose to go. Chris Moull stood up also. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.
‘No, Chris, I’m not going to drag you out at this hour. You’d miss your dinner, for one thing.’
‘But I’d like to come,’ he protested. Diana smiled at him. ‘It’s sweet of you to offer, Chris, but I’m not going to let you. When I get back I have things to do which won’t get done if you are there. And don’t worry about my cycling home alone in the dark. I’m used to it.’
Chris looked puzzled and a little shattered, but he did not argue further. After Diana had left he went up to his room.
‘Poor Chris,’ said Anne. ‘I wonder whether Diana realized just how much he wanted to go with her.’
They went across to the Lodge after lunch the next day. Anne wanted to collect some clothes, and would not go alone. As they walked up the path to the house she said suddenly, ‘There are men down by the river, Colin. I can hear them.’
‘I think they’re dragging the river,’ he said gently.
She shuddered, and hurried indoors. Colin stayed with her while she packed the few things she needed, and afterwards accompanied her on a tour of the house. In each room she paused, her eyes travelling slowly and somewhat mistily over its contents — ‘To make sure everything is all right,’ she told him. Colin nodded, although he did not believe her. She had a further and more intimate reason, he suspected.
In the sitting room she paused longer than usual, staring hard at J.C.’s desk. Then she turned to him excitedly, her eyes shining.
‘He’s not dead, Colin! He can’t be!’
‘How on earth can you tell that?’ he expostulated.
‘Because he’s been to his desk, that’s why. That chair — I pushed it into the knee-hole before I left, and now look where it is. Someone must have moved it.’
‘A burglar,’ he suggested weakly.
‘With all the doors and windows locked? Don’t be silly, darling.’ She went over to the desk and opened it. ‘See? It’s all neat and tidy. A burglar wouldn’t leave it like that.’
‘Didn’t your grandfather keep it locked?’
‘Usually, yes. He must have forgotten. I expect he was in a hurry to get away before I came home and found him here. That would have ruined his scheme.’
‘Damn it, Anne — I can’t believe J.C. would go to such lengths to frighten you just because of what happened Saturday morning,’ Colin said earnestly. ‘If he did it’s — well, it’s downright wicked.’
‘You don’t know Grandfather,’ said Anne. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the river and tell those men they’re wasting their time.’
They went out into the garden — and stopped. Across the fields from the river a group of men was approaching the house. Two of them carried a stretcher, and on it …
‘Oh, no!’ cried the girl. ‘No, it can’t be!’
Colin took her arm and led her back into the house. ‘You wait there, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and meet them.’
They lifted the rough blanket for him to look. Colin gulped, nodded, and turned away.
‘He was caught in the weeds,’ said one of the men. ‘Must have been carried down there by the current.’
‘You mean — that was how he died?’
‘No, sir. He’d be dead long before that. Cramp, most likely — or maybe a heart attack.’
They picked up the stretcher. ‘You’re not taking him to the Lodge, are you?’ asked Colin, alarmed.
‘No, sir. We brought him up this way because it’s nearer to the road. But if we might use the telephone —’
‘It’s in the hall,’ said Colin. ‘Help yourselves.’
He went into the sitting room to comfort the weeping Anne.
***
The inquest on John Connaught was held the following Wednesday. Mr Latimer formally identified the body, and the police described how and where it had been found. According to the medical evidence, death was due to drowning, with no indication as to how the accident might have occurred.
Anne was the only other witness. She told the court how her grandfather had been accustomed to take an early-morning bathe daily throughout the year, and how she had seen him set off in the direction of the river at seven o’clock on the previous Saturday. That, she said, was the last time she had seen him.
‘Was the deceased a strong swimmer?’ asked the coroner.
Anne said she thought he was reasonably strong for his age. ‘During the holidays I often went down to watch him bathe, and he never seemed to be in any difficulties. But I was wondering —’
‘Yes?’ prompted the coroner, as she paused.
‘He had a bad throat the day before. It was so bad he could only whisper, and I was wondering whether that might have affected him when he was in the water. Made him feel faint, perhaps.’
The coroner nodded. ‘Didn’t his doctor advise him against bathing?’ he asked.
‘He refused to see a doctor. I told him he ought not to bathe, but he was very —’ she had been going to say ‘pig-headed’, but stopped herself; it seemed a callous and light-hearted word to use under the circumstances — ‘he was rather obstinate. It had become almost a point of honour with him not to miss a morning, you see.’
The coroner thought this over.
‘I understand that Mrs Connaught died last January. Would you say that the deceased had become resigned to his wife’s death?’
Anne looked round the court. There were many there, she thought, who could answer that question better than she. She had not seen her grandmother since childhood, but from all accounts the old lady had been a bit of a tartar. And J.C. was not the grieving kind.
‘He seemed quite resigned,’ she said guardedly.
‘I have a reason for putting that question,’ the coroner told her. ‘When found, the deceased was still wearing his wristwatch. Now, that might be due to forgetfulness — I have done it myself, unfortunately — but do you think that in this case there might have been another reason? Could it not be that your grandfather, in a fit of depression caused by his wife’s death at the beginning of the year — a depression accentuated, perhaps, by his low state of health — decided to take his own life? I am not suggesting that this is what actual
ly happened — I merely mention it as a possibility. It would explain why in bathing that morning he disregarded your advice and, presumably, his own common-sense. And under such circumstances he would be unlikely to concern himself with the removal of his watch.’
Anne was shocked. To imagine J.C. committing suicide was preposterous, almost indecent. With his newly acquired wealth, the power it had given him to annoy Joseph Latimer, and his plans for her own marriage to James, he had much to live for. As for disregarding her advice — why, that was typical of J.C.
‘He would never do such a thing,’ she said firmly. ‘Never.’
The coroner left it at that. It had obviously been an alternative which he had considered it his duty to put forward but to which he personally gave little credence.
A verdict of accidental death by drowning was duly recorded.
***
Joseph Latimer wasted no tears over the death of his old enemy. He also lost no time in making his plans known. ‘I don’t know how you feel about going back to the Lodge,’ he said to Anne, shortly after the inquest, ‘but I suggest you move into the small sickroom for the rest of this term. It won’t be needed unless we are unfortunate enough to get an epidemic.’
Ann thanked him and accepted the offer.
‘The Lodge never belonged to your grandfather,’ the headmaster went on. ‘He had only a life tenancy, and it now reverts to the school. I could, of course, move some of the staff over there, but I would prefer not to. Not this term. I intend to convert the ground floor into a flat for the Smeltons — they find that house of theirs very expensive to run and the top floor can be done up to accommodate the male members of the staff.’ He was talking now more for his own benefit than for hers. This was a moment to which he had long looked forward. ‘It is essential to get the work started immediately if the Lodge is to be ready in time for next term. That is why I would prefer you to stay over here.’
Anne said again that she would prefer it too, but she felt some repugnance at this haste to carve up her grandfather’s home. She had not had much affection for the old man — he had been selfish and malicious, and she knew that he had sent for her to live with him only because, after his wife’s death, he needed a housekeeper. It had not been through any concern for her welfare — but at least Mr Latimer might have tried to conceal his satisfaction at J.C.’s death. Particularly when talking to the dead man’s granddaughter.
When she recounted this conversation at dinner that evening the headmaster’s attitude caused no surprise. ‘He’s a fish, is our Joseph,’ said Diana. ‘You mustn’t expect sympathy from a fish.’
‘I didn’t. I just thought he need not have gloated so openly.’
‘I haven’t seen him gloating,’ Diana said thoughtfully. ‘It must have been rather beastly.’
‘What annoys me is Smelton having a flat there,’ said Colin. ‘It would have suited ...’ He paused awkwardly; his engagement to Anne was still supposed to be a secret. ‘Smelton’s a wily old bird, if you ask me. He’s got in on the ground floor in more senses than one.’
‘His wife may have something to say about that.’ Diana had no liking for Dorothy Smelton. ‘Don’t give up hope.’
She laughed — rather maliciously, Anne thought — at the obvious embarrassment her remark caused.
Later that evening, when the others had gone to bed and Anne was alone in the common room waiting to say goodnight to Colin on his return from going round the dormitories, James Latimer came in. He sat himself astride a wooden chair, his arms resting on the back, his long legs stretched out before him.
‘Sorry about J.C., Anne,’ he said. ‘Unlike my father I got on well with the old man. I know it’s a bit late in the day to express my condolences, but you’re a difficult person to corner. That fellow Russell dogs you like a shadow.’ He smiled what he considered to be an all-conquering smile, showing a large expanse of white even teeth. Anne had been subjected to it before, and guessed something of what was coming. ‘Well, next term your shadow won’t be quite so permanent, thank goodness. He and Chris will be parked over at the Lodge. That may be my opportunity to cash in, eh?’
‘Don’t be silly, James,’ she said, hoping to halt him before he became difficult. Death is always frightening to the young, and the inquest had depressed her. She felt in no mood for coping with an amorous James Latimer. ‘It won’t make any difference, you know that.’
‘A pity.’ He got up and stood over her, looking like a younger but more genial edition of his father. ‘I had an idea that J.C. rather hoped you and I would make a go of it.’
‘I can’t imagine why you should think that,’ lied Anne.
‘Perhaps not. But I do. Mind you, I’m not proposing — we’d need to get together a bit more before it came to that.’ He bent lower, smiling down at her. ‘How about making a start with dinner at the George tomorrow night?’
Anne slid sideways and stood up. ‘No, thank you. Not tomorrow or any other night,’ she said.
He caught her arm, pulling her towards him. Unaccountably Anne felt scared. ‘I can be damned obstinate,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I don’t give up easily.’
‘I can be obstinate too,’ she retorted. Freeing herself, she ran from the room.
She found Colin on the landing. He wanted to go down and have it out with James, but Anne stopped him. ‘It’s partly my fault,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have encouraged him last term. Now he can’t understand how I manage to resist him.’
‘Why not tell him we’re engaged, then? That would put a stopper on his Don Juan act.’
‘It might not. You don’t know James as well as I do. And I shouldn’t be surprised if this re-awakening of his interest in me is connected with Grandfather’s death.’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘James has an eye to the main chance. It’s rumoured that I’m something of an heiress,’ Anne reminded him.
The rumour was well founded. John Connaught had left her the bulk of his fortune. ‘It has not yet been possible to ascertain the exact amount,’ the solicitor told her, ‘but after death duties and other bequests have been paid your share should be in the neighbourhood of twenty-five thousand pounds. Perhaps a little more.’
‘And very nice too,’ was Colin Russell’s comment. He seemed to have overcome his reluctance to marrying a girl with money. ‘On that you should be able to support me in the style to which I have not yet become accustomed, but which I am not averse to trying.’
There were two minor bequests, both surprising. ‘Two thousand pounds,’ ran the will, ‘to be paid to Philip Raynes Smelton or whosoever shall be senior master at Redways Preparatory School in his place; the money to be administered by him in conjunction with the rest of the teaching staff for the benefit of the boys at the school.’ But the real surprise lay in the proviso. Neither the headmaster nor his family were to benefit from the money or to be consulted in the spending of it.
The second bequest was even more startling. ‘Three thousand pounds to Diana Euphemia Farling provided she be still unmarried at the time of my death.’
The boys’ legacy caused fury in the meagre bosom of Mr Latimer. He had no objection to money being spent on the school, but that his enemy should be able to mock him even after death was almost unbearable.
‘What do we do with the cash, Smelton?’ asked Colin, after he and other members of the staff had discussed, with accuracy and not a little glee, the possible effects of his bequest on their headmaster. ‘How about refurnishing the commonroom so that the little dears will have somewhere cosy to sit when they come to pour out their troubles to us?’
Smelton frowned. ‘It’s no joking matter,’ he said. ‘In fact, it’s a hell of a responsibility. We’ll need to think it over most carefully.’
‘Why?’ asked Anne.
‘Because it’s not going to be easy. Not if we stick to the terms of the will, as I suppose we must. Practically everything that benefits the school must also benefit the Latimers.’
‘You could build a new swimming-pool,’ Diana suggested. She was a keen swimmer. ‘Joseph can’t abide cold water, and it is about time that wretched little duckpond was scrapped.’
‘Latimer would still benefit. It would enhance the value of the school, make it more attractive to parents.’
‘How about a tuckshop?’ asked Chris. He had brightened up since the inquest. Anne wondered whether that was because Diana had been noticeably sweeter to him. ‘We could give the stuff away free.’
‘No need to decide in a hurry,’ Smelton said. He too had become more cheerful. The rest of the staff attributed this to the prospective flat. ‘And if it’s going to fill old sourgrapes with the milk of human kindness, then I no longer grudge him it,’ Colin Russell had declared.
Diana Farling’s legacy also caused much comment, the general opinion (not voiced when Chris Moull was within hearing) being that Diana must have put in some behind-the scenes vamping on J.C. before, with the rest of the staff, she had been turned out of the Lodge. But the girl herself seemed startled, almost shocked and annoyed, at her good fortune, and fiercely resented any allusion to it.
‘I’m sure Diana would never have encouraged J.C. in any way,’ said Miss Webber, who, although scandal was as meat and drink to her, made a point of refraining from unkind remarks. They had much of the boomerang in them, she had found. ‘But there is no denying she is extremely good-looking, and he must have liked having her about the house. Any man would. Particularly if he had a wife as bad-tempered as —’ She stopped, flushing, and looked at Anne apologetically. ‘Sorry, my dear. I keep forgetting she was your grandmother.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ said the girl. ‘I never saw her after I was about six years old. But I think you’re wrong, Webby. J.C. wasn’t like that. If he was, why did he turn her out of the house last Easter with the others?’
‘He could hardly single her out to stay,’ Smelton said. ‘That would have been most injudicious. Personally I think Miss Webber may be right.’