So Bad a Death (27 page)

“Have you been calling on Mrs Potts-Power?” asked Connie curiously. “Did she ask you to?”

“Not exactly. It was more a matter of telepathy. I found her most entertaining, the old fraud.”

“Was she out of her wheelchair?”

“She was. And moving around as energetically as her bulk would allow. She's only an invalid for Daisy's sake. At least, so she says. I decline to comment on the situation.”

Connie lost some of her customary talkativeness as we drew near the Dower. I detected a certain nervousness in her manner and remembered the original purpose of this dinner party of mine. The cause of her distress was a matter to be discussed between her husband and mine. I thought it best not to interfere. In any case, it always took an age to explain a situation to Connie. She had been the slowest telephonist at Central.

I hurried Tony through his evening meal, slicing tomatoes and washing another lettuce at the same time. My head ached, a legacy from the broken night and the afternoon's concentration on crime. The sudden readjustment of dinner arrangements and the prospect of the evening ahead did not improve it.

Connie proved herself quite competent when her aimless talk was stilled. Together we managed to prepare an adequate meal, fairly attractively served.

I gave Tony a quick face-and-hands sponge and put him into pyjamas. I did not feel equal to fitting in a bath amongst a dozen other things. I dumped him in his cot with a picture book to await John's
homecoming. He was confused at all the rush and bustle. It made him restless. Twice when I went in to see if he was all right he was out of bed and wandering around the nursery.

That
would
happen when I had guests! Usually Tony went straight off to sleep as soon as he was tucked down. But, in the perverse way children have, he chose to misbehave that night.

After dinner—the grill was slightly overdone—John drew Harold Bellamy into the study, closing the door behind him. Connie stared at it in a frightened way.

“There's nothing to worry about,” I said briskly, “as long as he is quite frank. You see, John found out about Cruikshank's little game himself. Come and help me with these dishes.”

Connie said, following me out: “There is a letter Harold wrote to Mr Holland. Oh, Maggie, I'm so scared.”

“Don't be scared. The letter has already come to light. I've read it myself, so you can understand how little John thinks of it. Drat! Was that Tony again?”

It was, and the poor lamb must have been crying for some time. The conversation at dinner had prevented me from hearing him. I went into the nursery, switching on the light. He was lying on his side facing the wall, and crying softly in a way that made me feel a brute to neglect him for a couple of dinner guests. I felt even worse when I lifted him. He lay in my arms limply, not caring who it was. I felt his forehead and neck anxiously, but there was no fever. He looked a little pale to my super-critical gaze, but his small tongue was quite pink and healthy.

I tucked him up in his cot again, leaving the nursery door ajar and the light aglow in the passage. Connie had started the dishes with a vigour that spelled uneasiness.

“What is the trouble with Tony?” she asked absently.

I found an apron and tied it on. “Dunno. I never have understood children and I never will. If I do the drying we will be about equal. Or would you rather I washed now?”

“I don't care. Are they still in the study?”

“Who? Oh, the men. I suppose so. I didn't hear them come out. We'll go back to the lounge-room after clearing up.”

Poor Connie! Just because her precious Harold had been misguided enough to write a letter concerning Cruikshank's activities to the Squire, she seemed to believe her whole life was in jeopardy. However, this attitude was dispelled when we passed the study door on our way to the fire. A burst of hearty unrestrained masculine laughter nearly broke down the closed door.

I raised my brows at Connie. “Sounds like a serious conference. Dare we interrupt?”

Connie looked indignant. “To think that I have been nearly worrying myself sick! I do think it is too bad. Of course, I knew that there was really nothing to be frightened about, but—” Connie's relief had unplugged her volubility again.

I put my head in the study door.

“We are just coming, Maggie,” John said hastily. “Sorry we have been so long.”

“If the fire has gone down, you'll have to go out and get some kindling. I rather hope it has.” I delayed John for a moment, my hand on his arm.

Connie whispered to her husband as they went along to the lounge-room.

“Everything under control?” I asked.

“No more than we reasoned. It all depends on Cruikshank's part as to whether or not the unsullied name of Bellamy comes into the case. Can I go now, please? I'm cold and bored.”

I nodded in sympathy. “At least he appreciated your weak stories. And Connie regards you with awe. What now?” I picked up the telephone in the middle of the ring, holding it away from my ear as the sound continued.

“Go easy,” I requested loudly into the mouthpiece.

“Mrs Matheson?” asked a voice. “Is that you, Maggie?” Yvonne. She sounded more like her old self—frightened, timid and bewildered. I nodded to John to go.

“What is it? Is anything the matter?” I asked.

Her voice came over the line in an incoherent rush. “Oh, Maggie, he's sick again. I just went in—and nurse—I don't know what's the matter with her. She won't wake up. I don't know what to do.”

I gathered that it was Jimmy who was ill. I also guessed at the reason why Nurse Stone would not wake up. She was dead tight.

“Could you come over, Maggie?” Yvonne begged. “Jimmy doesn't look at all well. I don't know what to do.”

“Are you alone?” I asked.

“Aunt Elizabeth is out somewhere. At least I think so. She was not in her room when I called her. Ursula is here, but she doesn't know anything about babies. Please come.” She sounded almost beseeching.

“All right,” I said resignedly. “I'll be over as soon as I can.”

I went into the lounge-room. John was coaxing the fire along with the bellows.

“Sorry, people. Do you think you can do without me for a quarter of an hour? Yvonne Holland's baby is sick, and she thinks Doctor Maggie might be able to do something. I am afraid her confidence is misplaced.”

John's face dropped along with the bellows from his hand. “Get the card table set up,” I said soothingly. “By the time you've sorted out chips and found cards, I'll be back.”

I went to find a coat and a scarf for my head. The light was still on outside Tony's room. I crept in, moving the door so that a slit of light fell across his face. He still looked pale and heavy, and his mouth hung slightly open. He was breathing heavily. I regarded him anxiously for a few moments.

IV

It was owing to Tony's inexplicable ailment and the knowledge that I had left John with some boring people who were not his friends and were merely my acquaintances, that made me choose the path through the wood to the Hall. I was so wrapped up in my concern for haste that it did not occur to me to be nervous until I was actually entering the thickest part of the artificial spinney. Then it was too late to pander to my nervousness, and I kept on.

The wood was full of the noises of rustling leaves, insects and small creatures. One absurd thought became fixed in my head. What would happen if I came face-to-face with Ernest Mulqueen's fox? It must still be prowling around owing to its would-be trapper's detention. Did a fox attack human beings as well as poultry? Or was it a creature to be subdued like a dog? From the fox, my mind went to the gin which had been awaiting it. The trap, whose cruel teeth had grasped the Squire instead. John told me Ernest Mulqueen insisted that he had left the gin set away from the path. Following his directions, Sergeant Billings had located the gin and taken it to headquarters for a closer examination. Traces of cloth and human blood, both identified as James Holland's, had been found adhering to it.

I stepped cautiously along the path, my torchlight playing on the ground two feet ahead. I was moving slowly now, and it was hard to restrain hasty glances over my shoulder and sideways into the thickly growing trees. I dared not give way to nerves. I would only start rushing madly through the wood, screaming like an insane woman. It was the terrible quiet loneliness of the place which frightened me most. I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

The wood was an ideal place for a tryst, be it for love or some more evil purpose. No one would hear. The trees would smother light laughter or a sobbing cry for mercy. No sound could vibrate against the damp foliage above and the wet earth underfoot.

It would not occur to such as James Holland to feel apprehensive on his own property. Safe in his arrogance, born of the fear of others, it was unbelievable that a killer should be waiting for him in the darkness of the wood.

He did not carry a torch as I did. He knew the path well. Only too well. That was to the murderer's advantage. James Holland stepped confidently along the track and stumbled straight into the gin. What time was it? Was there no faint glimmer of light at all? Enough to enable the Squire to see a step ahead? The shot was fired just after seven. Seven had been the hour fixed for his arrival at Holland Hall.

I halted suddenly in the track. But it was not to glance fearfully over my shoulder or to play the torchlight on a suspicious bush. I was nearly through the wood now. I could see lights shining from
the windows of the Hall. It was nothing physical that pulled me up with such a jerk, but a blinding discovery. A revelation that I wanted to communicate to John at once.

Yvonne Holland must have thought I was quite mad. I had been called to the Hall to act as a pillar of strength to the fond mother of an ailing child, and all I wanted was the nearest telephone to talk to my husband whom I had left only a short time before. She looked faintly hurt and almost offended when I asked: “By the way, how is Jimmy now?” It was not very important to me then that her baby was sick again. Anyway, mine was ill too. She wasn't the only anxious mother in Middleburn.

Jimmy seemed better. He had vomited a great deal, but now he was asleep. I was still wanted to give my opinion on his condition.

“As soon as I've made a phone call, like a good girl,” I said coaxingly. “I'll only be a minute.”

Yvonne manipulated two pegs on the switchboard and led the way upstairs.

“You can use the phone in my room,” she told me. She was afraid I might go off and forget Jimmy altogether. “Come along to the nursery when you have finished. Nurse is still asleep. She just won't wake up. I have given up trying.”

“Best let her sleep it off,” I said absently, waiting for John to answer the extension. Yvonne gave me a puzzled look, and made as though to speak.

John's voice said: “Hullo,” and I waved her off.

“Darling,” I cooed, in an attempt to control the excitement in my voice. “Are you still cold and bored?”

“What the—Oh, it's you, Maggie.”

“Who did you think it was?” I asked promptly.

“Never mind. I am no longer cold. The fire is now burning well, no thanks to the green wood you bought. But I am still very, very bored. Suppose you come home instead of wasting time in ringing—”

“Never a waste of time,” I assured him. “Tell me, is there a great deal of difference between the sounds of a gunshot and a car backfiring?”

John's answer came slowly after a slight pause. “Not much, I should say. What are you after?”

I told him about the sudden flash of insight I had coming through the woods. “Maybe it was a backfire I heard. James Holland was due home at five, not seven. I saw the original telegram at the Post Office yesterday. Nothing like a visit to the scene of the crime to jog the memory.”

John sounded a bit shaken by my nervelessness, and commanded me to return home by the road.

“What do you think might happen to me?” I asked.

“I don't know. But do as you are told like a good girl. If you don't, I'll consider it a form of treading on my corns. And you know the hold I have over you there.”

I said plaintively: “I only wanted to be quicker for your sake. What do you think of the time business?”

“It sounds promising. I'll look into it.”

I gave him my word to go back by the road and rang off.

Crossing the landing which separated Yvonne's room from the nursery, something compelled me to glance down into the darkness of the hall below. I no longer felt nervy and on edge from my trip through the wood. Contact with John had a sobering up effect. So it could not have been a result of an overheated imagination which made me see a shadowy figure glide along the wall. I leaned over the railing, straining my eyes.

“Mrs Mulqueen?” I called on impulse. The sound of my voice echoed along the passage. No one came forward to be illuminated in the faint glow of light immediately below. There was no reply to my inquiring tone.