They Found Him Dead

by Georgette Heyer

  Miss Allison considered this. ‘It isn’t as bad as you might imagine,’ she said. ‘In fact, it’s really rather a pleasant life, taken all round.’

  Rosemary looked at her in wondering dismay. ‘But the utter boredom!’ she said. ‘I should go mad.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m rather placid, you know,’ replied Miss Allison apologetically.

  ‘I envy you. Cigarette?’

  Miss Allison accepted one.

  ‘It must be great to be able to take what comes, as you do,’ pursued Rosemary. ‘I wish I were like it. But it’s no good blinking facts: I’m not.’

  ‘Well, I don’t say that I should choose to be anyone’s companion,’ said Miss Allison. ‘Only I’m a fool at shorthand, and have no talents.’

  ‘I expect you have really,’ said Rosemary in an absent voice, and with her gaze fixed broodingly upon a spray of heliotrope. ‘I told you I was getting to the end of my tether, didn’t I? Well, I believe I’ve reached the end.’

  There did not seem to be anything to say in answer to this. Miss Allison tried to look sympathetic.

  ‘The ironic part of it is that having me doesn’t make Clement happy,’ said Rosemary. ‘Really he’d be better off without me. I don’t think I’m the sort of person who ought ever to marry. I’m probably a courtesan manquée. You see, I know myself so frightfully well – I think that’s my Russian blood coming out.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had any,’ remarked Miss Allison, mildly interested.

  ‘Good God, yes! My grandfather was a Russian. I say, do you mind if I call you Patricia?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Miss Allison politely.

  ‘And please call me Rosemary. You don’t know how I hate that ghastly “Mrs Kane.” There’s only one thing worse, and that’s “Mrs Clement.”’ She threw away her half-smoked cigarette, and added with a slight smile: ‘I suppose I sound a perfect brute to you? I am, of course. I know that. You mustn’t think I don’t see my own faults. I know I’m selfish, capricious, extravagant, and fatally discontented. And the worst of it is that I’m afraid that’s part of my nature, and even if I go away with Trevor, which seems to me now the only way I can ever be happy, it won’t last.’

  ‘Well, in that case you’d far better stick to your husband,’ said Miss Allison sensibly.

  Rosemary sighed. ‘You don’t understand. I wasn’t born to this humdrum life in a one-eyed town, surrounded by in-laws, with never enough money, and the parlour-maid always giving notice, and all that sort of ghastly sordidness. At least I shouldn’t have that if I went away with Trevor. We should probably live abroad, and anyway he would never make the fatal mistake of expecting me to cope with butcher’s bills. It isn’t that I won’t do it, it’s simply that I can’t. I’m not made like that. I’m the sort of person who has to have money. If Clement were rich – really rich, I mean – I dare say I shouldn’t feel in the least like this. You can say what you like, but money does ease things.’

  ‘Of course, but I was under the impression that you were pretty comfortably off,’ said Miss Allison bluntly.

  Rosemary shrugged her shoulders. ‘It depends what you call comfortable. I dare say lots of women would be perfectly happy with Clement’s income. The trouble is that I’ve got terribly extravagant tastes – I admit it freely, and I wish to God I hadn’t, but the fact remains that I have. That’s my Russian blood again. It’s an absolute curse.’

  ‘Yes, it does seem to be a bit of a pest,’ agreed Miss Allison. ‘All the same, you’ve got any amount of English blood as well. Why not concentrate on that?’

  Rosemary looked at her with a kind of melancholy interest, and said simply: ‘Of course, you’re awfully cold, aren’t you?’

  Miss Allison, realising that to deny this imputation would be a waste of breath, replied: ‘Yes, I’m afraid I am.’

  ‘I think that must be why I like you so much,’ Rosemary mused. ‘We’re so utterly, utterly dissimilar. You’re intensely practical, and I’m hopelessly impractical. You don’t feel things in the frightful way that I do, and you’re not impulsive. I shouldn’t think you’re terribly passionate either, are you?’

  ‘No, no, not at all!’ said Miss Allison.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ said Rosemary darkly. ‘Actually, of course, I suppose the root of the whole trouble is that Clement could never satisfy me emotionally. I don’t know if you can understand at all what I mean? It’s difficult to put it into words.’

  Miss Allison, hoping to avert a more precise explanation, hastened to assure her that she understood perfectly.

  ‘I don’t suppose you do really,’ said Rosemary rather thoughtfully. ‘It’s all so frightfully complex, and you despise complex people, don’t you? I mean, I’ve got that awful faculty of always being able to see the other person’s point of view. I wish I hadn’t, because it makes everything a thousand times more difficult.’

  ‘Does it? I should have thought it made things a lot easier.’

  ‘No, because, don’t you see, one gets torn to bits inside. One just suffers doubly and it doesn’t do any good. I mean, even though I’m in hell myself I can’t help seeing how rotten it is for Clement, and that makes it worse. I’m simply living on my nerves.’

  Miss Allison, who from the start of this conversation had felt herself growing steadily more earthbound, said: ‘I expect you need a change of air. You’ve got things out of focus. You must have – have cared for your husband when you married him, so –’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Rosemary interrupted. ‘I don’t think I did, really.’ She paused to light another cigarette, and said meditatively: ‘I’m not a nice sort of person, you know, but at least I am honest with myself. I thought I could get on with Clement, and I knew it was no use marrying a poor man. I mean, with the best will in the world it just wouldn’t work. I knew he was going to come into money when his cousin died, but I didn’t in the least realise that Cousin Silas would go on living for years and years. Which of course he will. Look at Great-aunt Emily! I don’t know that I actually put it all into words, but subconsciously I must have thought that Clement was going to inherit almost any day. They all say Cousin Silas has a weak heart, you know – not that I believe it.’

  ‘Would money make so much difference to you?’ asked Miss Allison curiously.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Rosemary. ‘I think it would. Not having enough of it makes me impossible to live with. I’m not a good manager. I hate everything to do with domesticity. It isn’t in my line. I can’t help getting into debt, because I see something I know I can’t live without another moment – like this bracelet, for instance – and I buy it without thinking, and then I could kill myself for having done it, because I do see how hateful it is of me.’

  ‘I suppose,’ suggested Miss Allison somewhat dryly, ‘that it doesn’t occur to you that you might send the bracelet back?’

  ‘No, because I have to have pretty things. That’s the Russian in me. C’est plus fort que moi. To do him justice Clement knows that. He doesn’t grudge it me a bit, only it worries him not being able to make both ends meet. Now he says we shall have to move into a smaller house, and do with only two maids. It’s no use pretending to myself that I don’t mind. I know I shouldn’t be able to bear it. I feel stifled enough already.’

  ‘When are you moving out of Red Lodge?’ inquired Miss Allison, with the forlorn hope of leading the conversation into less introspective channels.

  ‘On quarter-day, I suppose. I believe the people who’ve bought it would like to move in sooner, but I don’t really know. We don’t discuss it.’

  This magnificent unconcern made Miss Allison blink. She said practically: ‘But oughtn’t you to be looking for another house? It’ll be rather awkward if you don’t, surely?’

  Rosemary shrugged. ‘What’s the use?’ she said.

  Miss Allison, feeling he
rself to be unable to cope with the problem, said apologetically that she thought she ought to go back to the drawing-room.

  ‘I often think,’ remarked Rosemary, preparing to follow her, ‘that you placid people must find life very easy. I wish I did.’

  Not thinking this observation worthy of being replied to Miss Allison merely smiled, and stood aside for her to pass into the drawing-room.

  Their reappearance coincided with the arrival of the gentlemen from the dining-room. As the door opened old Mrs Kane abandoned even the smallest show of interest in the diet of Betty Pemble’s children, and looked towards it. Her deeply lined countenance, with its close mouth and pale, rather starting eyes, had in repose a forbidding quality, but as her glance fell on Jim Kane her whole face seemed to soften, and her mouth to relax into one of its rare smiles. She said nothing, but when he came across the room towards her she looked pleased, and made a little gesture towards a chair beside hers.

  He paused by a table to stub out his cigarette before coming to her, and then drew up the indicated chair, and sat down.

  ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’ inquired Emily.

  He smiled. ‘That sounds as though I’ve done something I shouldn’t. Have I?’

  She gave a grim chuckle. ‘I’ll be bound you have. When are you coming to stay?’

  ‘Next week. May I?’

  She nodded. ‘They don’t give you long enough holidays at that Treasury,’ she said. ‘Where’s your mother gone gallivanting off to now?’

  ‘Belgian Congo,’ replied Jim. ‘It’s no use asking me precisely where in the Congo, because no one can make out the address on her last letter. It looks like Mwarro Gwarro, but we can’t help feeling that that’s improbable.’

  ‘Pack of nonsense!’ said Emily, but without rancour. ‘At her age, too. Leaving the boy – what’s his name? – with us, are you?’

  ‘That was the general idea,’ Jim admitted. ‘Not mine, but Adrian’s. Do you mind? Adrian says Cousin Silas was kind enough to invite him.’

  ‘I dare say. He won’t bother me,’ said Emily. ‘I like young people about the place. Miss Allison can look after him.’ A gleam stole into her eye; she added sardonically: ‘You’d better talk it over with her.’ She looked towards her companion, and nodded imperiously. Miss Allison came to her at once. ‘My great-nephew wants to talk to you about his brother,’ she announced.

  Jim Kane had risen at Miss Allison’s approach, but shook his head at her glance of mild surprise. ‘No, I don’t,’ he protested. ‘I mean, not about Timothy.’

  ‘Well, you don’t want to talk to an old woman when you might be talking to a pretty young one, I hope,’ said Emily. ‘Miss Allison, show my great-nephew the orange-tree in the conservatory.’

  She dismissed them with a nod. Jim Kane said: ‘I wish you would. I haven’t been able to exchange two words with you so far.’

  ‘Go along,’ said Emily, clinching the matter.

  So Miss Allison entered the conservatory for the purpose of a tête-à-tête for the second time that evening. Mr James Kane, who had a disconcerting habit of going straight to the point, said bluntly: ‘Have I offended you?’

  ‘Offended me?’ replied Miss Allison in a voice of studied lightness. ‘Dear me, no! Why should I be offended with you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jim. ‘I got the impression during dinner that you weren’t liking me much.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Miss Allison bracingly.

  ‘Is it nonsense?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Of course. I mean – have you seen the white magnolia?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Why have you been snubbing me?’

  ‘I don’t think I have,’ said Miss Allison feebly.

  ‘You know you have.’

  Really, thought Miss Allison, this tête-à-tête is worse than the last. She said rather haltingly: ‘Well, you must remember that I’m in a – I’m in a somewhat difficult position. I’m Mrs Kane’s companion, you know.’

  He looked puzzled for a moment; then his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I get it. I mustn’t ask my great-aunt’s companion to marry me. A bit Victorian, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all. Anyway, don’t be silly!’

  ‘I’m not being silly. Will you marry me?’

  ‘No, certainly not!’ said Miss Allison with quite unnecessary emphasis.

  Mr James Kane did not appear to be noticeably cast down by this brusque rejection of his suit. He said: ‘Because you’d rather not, or because you’re Aunt Emily’s companion?’

  ‘Both,’ said Miss Allison in a hurry.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Jim said in a level voice: ‘I see. All right, I’m sorry. Let’s look at the magnolia.’

  Feeling like a murderess, Miss Allison led the way to the magnolia.

  ‘Improbable-looking flowers, aren’t they?’ remarked Jim.

  ‘Yes; so waxen,’ agreed Miss Allison. ‘The orange-tree is over here.’

  ‘I’ve lost all interest in orange-trees,’ said Jim. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to cope with my young brother till I come down?’

  ‘Are you coming down?’ asked Miss Allison involuntarily.

  ‘Next week. Not if you’d rather I didn’t.’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t. Please don’t be absurd!’

  ‘Come now, that sounds a lot more hopeful!’ said Jim. ‘At least you can’t dislike me!’

  Miss Allison made no response.

  ‘I shall persevere,’ said Jim.

  ‘If ever I marry,’ declared Miss Allison, ‘it will be a millionaire.’

  ‘It?’ said Jim.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Rather! I see lots of ’em trotting about the city. Failing a millionaire, wouldn’t a young man in comfortable circumstances do?’

  ‘No,’ said Miss Allison firmly. ‘I must have pots of money. I need it.’

  Jim grinned appreciatively. ‘You’ve been talking to Rosemary.’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, but I ought not to have said that.’

  ‘A companion’s life seems to be stiff with embargoes,’ he remarked. ‘The sooner you give it up the better. Would Aunt Emily’s consent be any use to you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then it is pure dislike?’

  ‘No, it isn’t!’ said Miss Allison, unable to stop herself. ‘I mean – I mean – I’m going back into the drawing-room!’

  Mr James Kane stepped between her and the way of escape. ‘All in good time. What do you mean?’

  Miss Allison said bitterly: ‘You’re one of those loathsome people who when given an inch grab an ell!’

  ‘Me to the life,’ agreed Jim. ‘But let’s get this straight. If you weren’t my great-aunt’s companion would you turn me down?’

  Miss Allison, instead of assuring him that she would, replied a trifle incoherently: ‘It isn’t so much Mrs Kane. There’s your mother too. She might well object to your getting entangled with a penniless companion-secretary.’

  ‘Good Lord, is that all?’ said Jim, relieved. ‘You needn’t worry about my mother. She won’t care two hoots. Do you like coloured stones, or do you prefer diamonds?’

  ‘I hate all jewellery!’ said Miss Allison.

  ‘Ah!’ said Mr Kane. ‘I can see you’ll make a Frugal Wife.’

  Before Miss Allison could think of a suitable retort their privacy was invaded by young Mr Harte, who strolled into the conservatory with the air of one who is sure of his welcome, and said cheerfully: ‘Hullo! What are you doing?’

  ‘Oh, just looking at the magnolia!’ answered Miss Allison. ‘What do you think of it?’

  ‘Swell!’ said Mr Harte, somewhat unexpectedly.

  ‘If you start that American film talk here you’ll g
et thrown out on your ear,’ Jim warned him.

  ‘Sez you!’ replied Mr Harte indulgently. ‘I say, Miss Allison, do you know what I think?’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘Well, it’s suddenly occurred to me that I shouldn’t be at all surprised if somebody got murdered here tonight.’

  Miss Allison was slightly taken aback, but Jim, accustomed to the morbid processes of his relative’s mind, said promptly: ‘Nor should I. What’s more, I know who’ll be the corpse.’

  ‘Ha, ha!’ said Timothy. ‘Very funny!’

  ‘But why should anyone be murdered?’ inquired Miss Allison.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ replied Timothy vaguely. ‘Cept that it’s absolutely the right sort of lay-out for a murder.’

  ‘Idiot!’ said Jim.

  ‘Of course, I know there won’t be one really, but all the same, it ’ud be jolly good fun if there was,’ said Mr Harte wistfully.

  Two

  When she went back into the drawing-room, Miss Allison was more able to understand why the notion of murder had occurred to young Mr Harte. A certain atmosphere of drama seemed to have spread over the room. To this the Clement Kanes were largely contributing, Clement by gazing hungrily at his wife whenever opportunity offered, Rosemary by looking stormier than ever and casting into the pool of conversation remarks calculated to convince the company that her marriage was on the verge of shipwreck. These were met by a high-nosed stare from Agatha Mansell, and several downright snubs from old Mrs Kane; but Betty Pemble, who found Rosemary ‘interesting,’ soon moved across to a chair by her side and began to talk to her. The interchange was curious and unsatisfactory, for Rosemary, who despised as suburban any woman who not only lived upon amicable terms with her husband, but presented him with two healthy children into the bargain, looked upon Betty with contempt, while Betty massacred Rosemary’s narrated spiritual reactions by capping them with similar ones of her own.

  ‘I feel stifled in Portlaw,’ announced Rosemary in unencouraging response to an encomium bestowed by Mrs Pemble on the invigorating properties of the air. ‘It’s as though I couldn’t breathe.’