A Taste for Death (42 page)

'Oh well, it's a village, isn't it? You see everyone up at the Gate sooner or later.'

Massingham said impatiently:

'You mentioned a Mr Smith.'

'He lives here, but you can't see him. Not that he'd be

able to tell you anything. But he's off roamin'.' 'Roaming? Where?'

'How do I know. On his bicycle. His folk used to live in Hillgate Village in the old days. Proper little slum it was when his grandad was alive. A hundred and sixty thousand they're asking for the houses now. I reckon he's got gypsy blood, has Mr Smith. There was a lot of gypsies settled round here after they pulled down the Hippodrome racecourse. He's always roamin'. It's easier for him now that British Rail let his bike go free. Lucky for you he isn't here. He's not too keen on the police. Too many of your chaps pick him up for nothing only sleeping under a hedge. That's what's wrong with this country, too much pickin' on decent people. And other things I could mention what we're not allowed to say.'

Kate could sense Massingham's anxiety to get on with the matter in hand. As if she too had sensed it, Mrs Minn. said:

'It was a proper shock for me, I don't mind telling you. Lady Ursula rang me up just before nine o'clock that night. She told me you'd be sure to be along sooner or later.'

'So that was the first you'd heard of Sir Paul's death, when his mother rang to warn you?'

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'Warn me? No call to warn me. I didn't slit his throat for him, poor gentleman, nor I don't know who did. You'd have thought Miss Matlock might have taken the trouble to phone earlier. That would have been better for me than hearing it on the six o'clock news. I wondered whether to ring the house, find out if there was anything I cofild do, but I reckoned they'd be bothered with enough calls with-out me on the line. Better wait, I thought, until someone rings.'

Massingham said:

'And that was Lady Ursula, just before nine?'

'That's right. Nice of her to trouble. But then we've always got on well, me and Lady Ursula. You call her Lady Ursula Berowne because she's the daughter of an

earl. Lady Berowne is only the wife of a baronet.' Massingham said impatiently. 'Yes, we do know that.'

'Oh you do, do you? Millions don't, nor don't care neither. Still, it's as well to get it right if you're thinking of

hanging about Campden Hill Square.'

Massingham asked:

'How did she sound when she rang you?'

'Lady Ursula? How do you expect? She wasn't laughing, was she? Wasn't crying neither. That's not her way. She was calm like she always is. Couldn't tell me much, though. What happened? Suicide was it?'

'We can't be sure, Mrs Minns, until we know more, ge.t the results of some tests. We have to treat this as a sus-picious death. When did you last see Sir Paul?'

'Just before he went out on Tuesday, about half past ten that would be. We was in the library. I'd gone in to polish the desk and there he was, sitting there. So I said I'd come back later, and he said "No, come in, Mrs Minns, ! won't be long."'

'What was he doing?'

'Like I said, he was sitting at the desk. He had his diary open.'

Massingham said sharply:

'Are you sure?'

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'Of course I'm sure. He had it open in front of him and he was looking through it.'

'How can you be certain that it was his diary?'

'Look, it was open in front of him and I could see it was a diary. It had different days on the page, it had dates in it and he'd written in it. Think I don't know a diary when ! see one? Afterwards he closed it up and put it in the top

right-hand drawer where it's usually kept.'

Massingham asked:

'How do you know where it's usually kept?'

'Look. I've worked in that house nine years. I was taken on by her Ladyship when Sir Hugo was baronet. You get to know things.'

'What else happened between you?'

'Nothing much. I asked him ifI could borrow one of his books.'

'Borrow one of his books?' Massingham frowned his surprise.

'That's right. I'd seen it on the bottom shelf when I'd been dusting and I fancied reading it. It's there, under the television set, if you're interested. A Rose by Twilight by Millicent Gentle. I haven't seen a book by her for yea rs.'

She reached for it and handed it to Massingham. It was a slim book still in its dust cover, a picture of an egregiously handsome dark-haired hero holding a blonde girl half-swooning in his arms against a background riot of roses. Massingham flicked through it and said with a note of amused contempt:

'Hardly his kind of reading, I should have thought. Sent to him, I imagine, by one of his constituents. It's signed by

the author. I wonder why he bothered to keep it.'

Mrs Minns said sharply:

'Why shouldn't he keep it? She's a good writer is Mil-licent Gentle. Not that she's been doing much lately. I'm very partial to a good romantic novel. Better than all those horrible murders. I can't be doing with them. So I asked if I could borrow it and he said I could.'

Kate took the book and opened it. On the flyleaf was

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written: 'To Paul Berowne, with every good wish from the author'. Underneath was the signature, Millicent Gentle and the date, the seventh of August. It was the date of Diana Travers' drowning, but apparently Massingham hadn't noticed. She closed the book and said:

'We'll take this book back to Campden Hill Square if you've finished with it, Mrs Minns.'

'Please yourself. I wasn't thinking of pinchin' it if that's

what you're thinking.'

Massingham asked:

'What else happened after he'd said you could borrow the book?'

'He asked me how long I'd been working at Campden Hill Square. I said nine years. Then he said "Have they been good years for you?" I said, as good for me as they have for most.'

Massingham smiled. He said:

'I don't think that's what he meant.'

'I know what he meant all right. But what did he expect me to say? I do the work, they pay me; four pounds an hour which is above the going rate, and a taxi home if I'm there after dark. I wouldn't stay if the job didn't suit. But what do they expect for their money? Love? If he'd wanted me to say that I'd spent the best years of my life at Campden Hill Square then he was disappointed. Mind you, it was different when the first Lady Berowne was alive.'

'How do you mean, different?'

'Just different. The house seemed more alive then. I liked the first Lady Berowne. She was a very pleasant lady.

Not that she lasted long, poor soul.'

Kate asked:

'Why did you continue to work at number sixty-two, Mrs Minns?'

Mrs Minns turned her bright little eyes on Kate and said simply:

'I like polishing furniture.'

Kate guessed that Massingham was tempted to ask what she thought of the second Lady Berowne, but he decided

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to keep to his main line of questioning. 'And what then?' he asked. 'He went out, didn't he?' 'Out of the house?' 'That's right.' 'Can you be sure?'

'Look, he had his jacket on, he picked up that hold-all he had, he went through the hall and I heard the front door open and shut. If it wasn't him going out then who was it?'

'But you didn't actually see him go?'

'I never followed him to the door to kiss him goodbye, if that's what you mean. I have my work to do. But that's the last time I saw him in this world, and I've no expectations of seeing him in the next, that's for sure.' ,

Perhaps prudently Massingham did not pursue this thought. He said:

'And you're certain that he put the diary back in the drawer?'

'He didn't take it with him. Look, what is it about the

diary? Are you saying I stole it or something?'

Kate broke in:

'It isn't in the drawer now, Mrs Minns. Of course, we don't suspect anyone of taking it. It hasn't any value. But it does seem to be missing, and it could be important. You see, if he did make an appointment for the next day, thet it wouldn't be very likely that he set out from hoe meaning to kill himself.'

Mrs Minns, mollified, said:

'Well, he didn't take it with him. I saw him put it b Ii with my own eyes. And if he did come back for it later it

wasn't while I was in the house.'

Massingham asked:

'That's possible, of course. When did you leave?'

'Five o'clock. My usual time. I wash up the lunch thigs and I have my special afternoon job. Some days it migit be the silver, some days the linen cupboard. On Tuesdy it was dusting the books in the library. I was there fr,,rn

half past two until four, when I went to help Miss Matlock with the tea. He certainly didn't come back then. I'd have

heard anyone if they'd come through the hall.' Suddenly Kate asked:

'Would you say it was a happy marriage, Mrs Minns? 'Hardly ever saw them together to tell. When I did they seemed all right. They never shared a bedroom, though.'

Massingham said:

'That's not so very unusual.'

'Maybe. But there's not sharing and not sharing if you get my meaning. I make the beds, you see. That may be

your idea of a marriage but it's not mine.'

Massingham said:

'Hardly the way to produce the next baronet.'

'Well, I did wonder about that a few weeks ago. Offher breakfast she was and that isn't like her. But not much chance I reckon. Too worried about her figure. Mind you, she's not bad when she's in a good mood. Too gushing though. "Oh Mrs Minns be a darling and fetch my dressing gown." "Mrs Minns, be an angel and run a bath for me." "Be a dear and make a cup of tea." Sweet as sugar as long as she gets her own way. Well, she more or less has to be. Same with Lady Ursula. She doesn't much care for Miss Matlock helping her to bath and dress. I can see that even if Matlock can't. But there it is. If you get used to having your bath run and your breakfast in bed and your clothes hung up, you have. to put up with some inconvenience in return. Different when Lady Ursula was a girl, of course. Servants were seen and not heard then. Pressed back against the wall when the gentry go by in case they have to look at you. Hand the post with a glove so as not to contaminate it. Think yourself lucky to have a good place. My gran was in ser-vice; I know.'

Massingham said:

'There were no quarrels, then, as far as you know?'

'It would have been better, maybe, if there had been. He was too polite, formal you could say. Now that's not

natural in a marriage. No, there were no quarrels, not till Tuesday morning anyway. And then you could hardly call it a quarrel. Takes two to quarrel. She was screeching fit to reach the whole house, but I didn't hear much from him.'

'When was this, Mrs Minns?'

'When I took up her breakfast tray at half past eight. I do that every morning. Sir Paul used to take up Lady Ursula's. She only has orange juice, two slices ofwholemeal bread, toasted, marmalade and coffee, but Lady Berowne has the whole hog. Orange juice, cereal, scrambled egg, toast, the lot. Never puts on an ounce though.'

'Tell me about the quarrel, Mrs Minns. What did you hear?'

'I got to the bedroom door when I heard her screeching: "You're going to that whore. You can't, not now. We need you, we both need you. I won't let you go." Some-thing like that. And then I could hear his voice, very low. I couldn't hear what he was saying. I stood outside the door and wondered what to do. I put the tray down on the table by the door. I usually do that while I knock. But it didn't seem right to go barging in. On the other hand I couldn't stand there like a daft thing. Then the door opened and he came out. White as paper he was. He saw me and said: "I'11 take the tray, Mrs Minns." So I gave it to him. The way he looked it was a wonder he didn't drop it there and then.'

Massingham said:

'But he took it into the bedroom?'

'That's right, and shut the door. And I went back to the kitchen.'

Massingham changed the direction of his questions. He asked:

'Did anyone else enter the library that Tuesday as far as you know?'

'That Mr Musgrave from the constituency did. He waited from about half past twelve to nearly two o'clock hoping Sir Paul would be back for lunch. Then he gave up and went away. Miss Sarah was there about four

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o'clock. She'd come to see her grandmother. I told her Lady Ursula wasn't expected back to tea, but she said she'd wait. Then she got fed up too, seemingly. Must have let herself out. I didn't see the going of her.'

Massingham went on to ask her about Diana Travers. Kate sensed that he had less faith than she had in AD's belief that the deaths of both girls were somehow con-nected with Paul Berowne's murder, but he dutifully did what was expected of him. The result proved a great deal more interesting than either of them had thought possible. Mrs Minns said:

'I was there when Diana arrived. We'd just lost Maria. She was Spanish, her husband worked as a cook in Soho, then she got pregnant with her third and the doctor said to cut down on her outside jobs. She was a good worker, was Maria. Those Spanish girls know how to house-clean, I'll say that for them. Anyway, Miss Matlock put a card in the newsagent's window at the end of Ladbroke Grove and Diana turned up. The card couldn't have been there more than an hour. A bit of luck, really, I never thought she'd get any answers. Good cleaning ladies don't have to

look in newsagents for jobs these days.'

'And was she a good cleaner?'

'Never done it in her life before, you could see that. But she was willing enough. Of course Miss Matlock never let her touch the best china or polish in the drawing room. She took over the bathrooms, bedrooms, prepared vege-tables, did a bit of shopping. She was all right.'

'A strange job for her to choose, though, a girl like that.'

Mrs Minns understood what he meant.

'Oh, she was educated all right, you could see that. Well it wasn't badly paid, four pounds an hour, a good midday meal if you're there for it and no tax unless you're daft enough to pay it. She said she was an actress looking for work and wanted a job she could chuck at once if some-thing turned up. What's so interesting about Diana Travers anyway?'