The Perfect Daughter (11 page)

A large plank of wood with hemp ropes knotted round it, some cut.

(I remembered Ben kneeling on the planks in the boathouse, hacking at the ropes round Verona's feet. No use, of course, but the useless things seem important when there's nothing you can do.)

A woman's overcoat, with the label of a London store. The constable had found it in one of the dinghies moored to the platform, as if flung there. It was blue-grey tweed, not nautical wear. (I couldn't remember an overcoat.) In the pocket of the coat he'd found an object. I almost missed what he was saying. I'd been thinking about Ben's fingers trying to loosen the knots, wondering if he still hoped then that she might be alive. A collective gasp brought me back to what was happening, with the coroner asking the constable to repeat that to make sure the jury heard it.

‘Yes, sir. A hypodermic syringe, in the pocket.'

‘Did you take possession of the syringe?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Was there anything in the syringe?'

‘It was nearly empty, sir. Just a bit of stuff at the bottom.'

‘Stuff?'

‘Liquid, sir.'

‘Did you have that liquid analysed?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And what was the result?'

‘Morphine, sir. Solution of morphine.'

Chapter Nine

T
HE JURY TOOK UNDER AN HOUR TO DECIDE
that Verona North killed herself while the balance of her mind was disturbed. When it was over Ben walked out first in complete silence. When he'd gone the murmuring started again and the rest of us filed outside. I hung back to give Ben plenty of time to get clear and found Bill beside me.

‘Are you all right, Nell?'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘Would you rather I weren't?'

I was so angry – not so much with him as with everything – that I almost said yes, but didn't know if I'd mean it, didn't know anything. Besides, there were people all round us in the corridor, hungry for more drama. We went with the crowd, out to the yard where the cars and carts were parked. I hadn't given Ben enough time after all. He was sitting in the big black car with the engine running and the driver at the wheel. The man with the grey beard and scar was standing beside the car with one foot on the running board, leaning in and talking to Ben. I tried to make myself inconspicuous in the crowd but the bearded man turned and looked straight at me. He turned back to the car, said something to Ben and nodded. It looked as if he'd asked a question and got an answer. He took his foot off the running board, stepped back and the car drove away. The man watched it out of sight and started walking towards me.

‘Somebody you know?' Bill asked.

‘No, but he must be a friend of the family. I'll have to talk to him.'

The last thing I wanted to do was stay and collect more blame, but I needed to know about Alex. Bill took a tactful few paces back. The man stopped, raised his hat.

‘Excuse me for troubling you, but am I speaking to Miss Bray?'

Yes, I said.

‘My name's Archie Pritty. Ben asked me to make apologies on his behalf.' His voice surprised me. It was soft and likeable with a touch of West Country accent in it. From his manner, I'd expected something more peremptory. Seen close to, he was younger than you'd have guessed from the beard, late fifties or early sixties probably. The beard was a bright silvery-grey, his face had a light tan that made the scar stand out and the eyes that were looking into mine were the colour of the sea on a cloudy day. The pupils were small and that gave his look an intensity, as if you were being recorded by a pin-hole camera. Perhaps he was aware of that, because he had a way of looking then glancing away.

‘Apologies?'

‘For not speaking to you. I'm sure a time will come when he and Alexandra want to talk about what happened, but at present…'

He waited.

I said, ‘I'm not sure that Ben will ever want to speak to me again. Please tell Alex, if she ever does, I'll come and see her at any time.'

‘Yes.'

I took that more as a promise to deliver the message than a sign that Alex might want to see me.

‘And if you think she needs to hear this, please tell her that I had no idea, no idea at all.'

It was odd, saying this to a man I'd only met a minute before, but it was in my mind that Alex might think I'd known about the morphine and the pregnancy and hadn't told her.

‘Verona hadn't confided in you at all?'

I guessed then that Ben had offered no apologies and that Archie Pritty was there entirely as Alex's messenger.

‘No. I wish with all my heart that she had.'

‘I'm sure we all wish that. I'm very sorry indeed to have troubled you, Miss Bray. Are you staying here or going back to town?' Back to town, I said. To my annoyance he glanced at Bill, standing just out of earshot, acknowledged his presence with a nod and got one back.

‘And may I offer you my most sincere sympathies. She was a remarkable girl, Miss Bray. A quite remarkable girl. Good morning. I'll give her mother your message.'

The voice was quivering on the last few words. As he put his hat on and turned away I saw that tears were gathering in the corner of the down-turned left eye, trickling down the line of the scar. I watched him walk away and Bill came and stood beside me.

‘Distinguished-looking chap. What did he want?'

‘Alex can't face seeing me, but I think she's trying to keep the lines of communication open.'

‘Poor woman.'

‘I can't do anything. I must be like losing Verona twice over, first her dying and then all this.'

‘Let's get away from here, shall we. I thought you might like…'

I didn't find out what I might like, because we'd got to the gateway of the yard and had to stand back to let out Dr Maidment in his governess cart. He was red-faced and jerking at the reins like a man in a bad temper. He was alone in the cart. I looked round for the anxious girl with the dark curls whom I took to be his daughter and saw her leaning against the wall, hat askew, with her back to everybody and a hand up to her face. Verona had liked her enough to say goodbye before going off to London.

‘Bill, I'd better go and see if…'

‘Will you stop worrying about other people for once. She'll be all right.' I didn't argue. We started walking, but the street was quite crowded and I recognised some of the people who'd been at the inquest stopping and talking to friends who hadn't. Little groups were gathering. The air was buzzing with a combination of shock and self-satisfaction. The commodore's daughter. Her poor parents. Who'd have thought it. Just shows. I was jostling against people, getting angrier. Bill kept pace with me, saying nothing, and we eventually found ourselves sitting on a bench by a flowerbed.

‘I simply don't believe it.'

‘It will take some time. It's come as a shock to you.'

‘I don't mean I can't believe it because it's a shock. I mean, I simply don't believe it happened like that.'

‘What bit of it don't you believe?'

‘What they were implying. That she's pregnant, addicted to morphine, sunk so low that the only thing to do is come home and slowly strangle herself.'

‘Are you disputing the medical evidence?'

Bill was being desperately patient, the way he'd be with any difficult client.

‘No. If the patholgist says she was pregnant, she was pregnant.'

We were having to speak in low voices. There were people walking by and the whole town would know by now.

‘Or that there were traces of morphine in the syringe?'

‘I assume the police can analyse morphine. There was bruising round the puncture wound.'

‘Superficial bruising. I imagine you could do that injecting your own arm. You'd brace your elbow against something and press down.' Bill mimed it against the back of the bench. He might think I was deluded, but at least he gave me credit for not being squeamish.

‘Miss Bray…'

I was just about aware of the little voice from behind but I was seeing Verona in the boathouse, sleeve rolled up, elbow pressed against the wall.

‘But you'd have the syringe in your hand, so how could you be bruising yourself at the same time?'

‘Miss Bray, could I talk to you please?'

Bill groaned. I looked round and saw the doctor's daughter. She was more flushed than ever, hair all over the place. Her face must have got dusty in the drive to get her father to the inquest in time and her tears had made tracks down it. You could see that she'd been properly brought up, so that accosting strangers in public places wasn't her normal behaviour, but there was a desperate determination about her.

‘What about?'

‘You're her relation, aren't you? Verona's. I want to know … I mean, what people are saying, only nobody will tell me.'

I said, as gently as I could, ‘Don't you think you'd better go home and wait for your father? I'm sure he'll tell you when he gets back.'

‘He won't. He won't discuss it. He wouldn't after she'd killed herself and now … what they're saying…' She stared at me for a while, then burst out, ‘… that she was enceinte?'

Then she seemed to register Bill's presence for the first time and her round face went as red as a geranium. I looked at him. He sighed again and stood up.

‘Ten minutes, Nell?'

The girl watched as he walked away round a corner.

I said, ‘You'd better sit down and tell me your name.'

‘Prudence Maidment.'

She sat.

‘How old are you, Prudence?'

‘Eighteen.'

‘And you and Verona were friends?'

‘Always. We went to the same school until we were fifteen. She'd stay with me sometimes and she'd take me out in her boat and … we'd always tell each other our secrets. Always.'

There was still so much of the schoolgirl about Prudence that it reminded me of how far and fast Verona had travelled in such a short time. This girl was a world away from the young woman lounging in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Scrumped apples would probably be Prudence's idea of wicked indulgence.

‘Is it true?'

It had taken a lot of nerve for Prudence to speak to me. She didn't deserve evasions.

‘Yes. I'm afraid it is.'

‘Oh.' Her head went down. ‘How … how did it happen. Did … did somebody force her?'

‘Why do you think that?'

‘Because … we'd talked about it.'

‘Having babies?'

She shook her head so violently that her hat fell off. When I picked it up and gave it to her she didn't put it back on but turned it round and round in her fingers, mauling the brim.

‘No. About not getting married or getting … getting silly over men or anything like that until we'd done something in the world.'

‘Done what?'

‘Done anything. I … I wanted to be a nurse. Daddy doesn't want me to, but Verona was going to help me persuade him. He liked Verona, everybody did. He'd have listened to her. Now…'

‘And what did Verona want to do in the world?'

She hesitated a moment and smiled, probably at some memory of schoolgirl confidences, drifting in a boat or lazing under the apple trees.

‘She wanted to join the Navy.' Prudence mistook my surprise for disapproval.

‘It's all right, we knew she couldn't, not really. But she wished she could be a cadet like her brother and then serve on her father's ship, so that when another war starts she could go with him.'

‘She thought there was going to be a war?'

Prudence stared at me. ‘Of course there will be! Why are we building all those battleships if there's not going to be?'

‘So Verona took an interest in naval affairs?'

‘Oh yes. She was so good at identifying ships and things. When we visited her godfather in Shaldon we'd always take his old telescope up to the Ness and watch the ships going past. She knew the names of all of them and where they were coming back from. I saw him talking to you. He must be so upset too, poor man.'

‘Saw who?'

‘Verona's godfather, Admiral Pritty.'

‘The one with the beard and the scar?'

‘Yes, isn't it awful? It happened on an exercise. A shell exploded. Daddy says he must be in pain from it all the time, but you'd never guess and he's always such fun with us. He's got a house at Shaldon, that's on the other side of the estuary, right down by the water. We'd have races across the river in his rowing boats. Verona would nearly always win. He called her—'

I finished it for her, ‘—his little midshipman.'

It was falling into place now, that conversation with Alex, a few minutes before her world fell apart.

‘Even when he had to be away in London he'd tell the bosun to let us in…'

‘Bosun?'

‘His butler, sort of, but we call him the bosun. He used to be on one of the admiral's ships. There'd be the telescope and a basket with ginger biscuits and lemonade for us to take up the Ness with us, and when the admiral got back we had to tell him all the ships we'd seen while he was away. Verona even knew the tonnages. She never got one wrong. Well, hardly ever.'

Remembering it, Prudence was talking herself back into cheerfulness. She wasn't to know she was sinking me deeper and deeper in gloom. We sat there in silence for a while, Prudence staring at me as if there were still questions she wanted to ask. I had no answers for her, only more questions of my own.

‘Were you surprised when Verona told you she was going to London?'

‘Yes.'

‘When did she tell you?'

‘Back in the autumn sometime, late September or early October. We'd been away, so I hadn't seen her for nearly three weeks. I thought we'd have a lot to talk about but she seemed quieter than usual. I wondered if she'd been ill, but she said no. Anyway, there was one afternoon when Daddy went off to play golf with the admiral and Verona and I went out in her dinghy. There wasn't much wind, so we just sat there and talked and it was then she told me.'