Authors: The Companion
Ann Granger (13 page)
Carterton swayed and I was ready to catch him but he rallied and, to give the man his due, stood up to the ghastly duty well. He glanced at the ravaged features, looked briefly away, then turned back and stared long and carefully at them.
‘That is Madeleine Hexham,’ he said at last. ‘At first I wasn’t sure. She is not – she is not as she was. But now I am certain that is — I am certain of it.’ He fumbled in his coat pocket for his handkerchief.
I nodded to the assistant to replace the sheet. Carterton turned aside, mopping at his mouth and suddenly retched. The assistant was ready for it and pushed under his chin a metal bowl which had been standing nearby for just such a purpose. Carterton vomited comprehensively into it.
The assistant spoke and it gave me a start for he was usually silent. Possibly, as representing Dr Carmichael, he felt obliged to comment.
‘Very sad, gentlemen,’ he said. His voice was as soft as his hands and as oily as his lank hair. ‘Youth and beauty struck down. Very sad, sirs.’
He was enjoying it all. He enjoyed Carterton’s discomfiture, my impotent resentment of him and the authority which these macabre surroundings and Carmichael’s absence had temporarily invested in him.
‘Will you be bringing others to view the deceased?’ the man went on. He gestured towards the dead woman in a way which I found almost proprietorial, as if he were a showman and Madeleine his most prized exhibit.
‘No!’ I said curtly. ‘I don’t doubt the coroner will give his permission for her removal and burial.’
‘Very well, sir,’ he said softly.
We left him standing by her, watching us depart.
Carterton was silent until we got back to the Yard where he signed a statement to the effect that he had identified Madeleine Hexham. Putting pen to paper seemed to rally his spirits. Perhaps it was a familiar action.
He put down the pen and sniffed at the sleeve of his jacket. ‘The smell of that place is sticking to me.’ His tone was sullen.
‘Yes, sir. We often find it so. But it will wear off by the time you get home. If not, have the servant hang your outer clothing in the fresh air tomorrow.’
He rose to his feet. ‘I am sorry I made a fool of myself back there,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Puking like that.’
‘Don’t worry about it, sir, it’s quite natural. Thank you for your help. It’s much appreciated,’ I told him.
‘There is nothing else?’ His voice rose hopefully.
‘Only a couple of quick questions. Have you any idea why Miss Hexham left the house that day without warning and without luggage?’
‘Why,’ he said, surprised, ‘at the time, no more than any of us. But then she wrote a letter to my aunt, as you know, telling us why.’
‘You saw this letter?’
‘I saw it, but if you are going to ask me if it was really her
handwriting, then all I can say is, it looked like it. I was not well enough acquainted with her hand to say more.’
handwriting, then all I can say is, it looked like it. I was not well enough acquainted with her hand to say more.’
‘And you were surprised that she had eloped?’
‘Dash it, of course I was!’ he snapped.
‘She had not seemed distracted, as if planning something, or more than usually thoughtful?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Nor did she appear to be love-struck, if that’s what you’re driving at. As far as I could see, she was a woman of little or no emotion except at second-hand.’
There he had me foxed. ‘At second-hand, sir?’
‘She read novels. She got them from circulating libraries. Sentimental rubbish.’
So, I thought grimly, a girl without any personal experience of life and its passions, who had drawn all her ideas from the printed page of popular novelettes. Then real life had stepped in and, hard on its heels, an all-too-savage death.
Elizabeth Martin
A KNOCK at my bedroom door roused me from the memories of time past. I opened it to find Nugent who told me Mrs Parry needed my presence. I found her propped up, fully dressed, on her bed supported by a mound of pillows. The room reeked of cologne and sal volatile and I saw that the Madeira bottle had been called into use again as it stood, almost empty, with a stained glass on a side table.
Whatever the combination of treatments, Aunt Parry had rallied. She sounded brisk and appeared quite recovered. From her pillows she signalled at me with a small white podgy paw.
‘Elizabeth, do write a note on my behalf to dear Dr Tibbett. Tell that I would be obliged if he would call – no, say if he could dine this evening. Don’t tell him what happened to Madeleine, it’s hardly the way to let him know of it. Just say, there is a matter I need to discuss with him urgently. Send one of the servants with it. Simms knows the address of Dr Tibbett’s rooms.’
She paused. ‘I shall ask him if he thinks we ought to go into mourning. In the circumstances I hardly think so. It would draw unnecessary attention and occasion questions. There will be gossip enough, I suppose, anyway. You are soberly dressed in any case, Elizabeth. What do you think?’
‘Perhaps,’ I suggested, ‘some sign of the seriousness of the events …?’
‘But not mourning, yes, that’s very sensible of you, my dear. Black is out of the question. Nugent! Lay out the dove-grey silk. I think that should do it.’
I went down to the library and penned a careful summons to Dr Tibbett as bid, sealed it and handed it to Simms. A little later I saw Wilkins in her bonnet and shawl, scurrying past the window on her way to deliver it.
I was sure Wilkins did not mind the errand. It not only gave her the chance to be out of the house and from under Mrs Simms’ eagle eye, but it lent her a measure of importance. Excitement quivered in every line of her hurrying form. Simms would have told them all of Miss Hexham’s fate. Wilkins would pass the news on to every acquaintance she met and, on the way back, take a moment to stop by each and every basement in the street to inform the staff of the house. Within the hour, every maidservant in Marylebone would know that there had been a horrible crime and, without a doubt, the mistress of the house in question would know of it soon after. The terrible event would be common knowledge: murder had struck at one of the most respectable and well-to-do households of the area. From drawing room to kitchen talk would be of nothing else.
But Dr Tibbett did not come to dine. Wilkins returned to tell us that a manservant had taken the note and informed her that his master had gone out. He did not know where and he did not know when he would be back. He was not expected to dine in his rooms.
Frank did not come back, either. Instead a note came to say he had been obliged to call at Scotland Yard and would thereafter dine in town. By the time this note arrived even the urchin who brought it had heard the news and demanded hopefully, when given the sixpence he had been promised by Frank would be his reward, ‘Is this the ’ouse of the murder?’
So Aunt Parry and I dined alone together. My employer was fretful. She complained repeatedly of the absence of both Tibbett and Frank. I was perfectly happy to be without either of them that evening. I was particularly pleased to be spared Dr Tibbett’s views, although no doubt we should hear them in due course. They would be both predictable and ill-informed. We did not know the circumstances of Madeleine’s death. Whatever Tibbett had to say it would amount to declaring that it was all her own fault. I didn’t believe Aunt Parry needed either of them there for advice. She needed them there for an audience but she had to make do with me.
‘What do you think, Elizabeth?’ she began almost every speculation, but then did not wait to hear what I thought. Well, that was what a paid companion was for. The requirement that I be a ‘good conversationalist’ was quickly proving itself little more than a formality.
Frank had not returned by the time we retired. I slept badly. This time, unlike the previous night when Frank had returned late, I did hear him come back. He stumbled up the stairs and was, I guessed, drunk. Simms had waited up for him and could be heard guiding him along the corridor.
I fell asleep eventually and was awoken by a clang of metal and sat up with a start to see Bessie edging into the room with the can of hot water. Her mob cap had slipped down over her face again and rested not far short of her snub nose.
‘Thank you!’ I called out.
She put down the can, pushed up the mob cap with both hands and turned to face me. Her little face was white and frightened.
‘Is it true, miss? Is it true what Mr Simms has said about Miss Hexham being murdered?’
I got out of bed, threw a shawl over my nightgown and went to put an arm round her thin shoulders.
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is true, Bessie. But you must not be frightened.’
‘Did he cut her up, the murderer?’ She stared at me fixedly.
‘Cut her up?’ I asked, startled.
‘Yus, you know, slit her throat. Or strangle her or bash her head in or what?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said faintly, taking my arm from her shoulders.
‘Was it when she left here? Did she go and meet him?’
Bessie’s agitation was increasing.
‘We shall find out eventually. I think a police officer may come to the house today and ask the staff if they saw anything that day, or know anything of the matter at all.’
‘I don’t know anything!’ said Bessie immediately with unlooked-for ferocity. ‘I didn’t do anything!’
She grabbed the water can and scuttled out, leaving me thoughtful.
Unexpectedly Frank was up early, or perhaps had not been to bed at all. He looked a little rumpled and had cut himself shaving, but he was in his place at the breakfast table when I came down. He was not tucking in heartily as he had been the day before, but sat toying with a cup of cooling coffee and staring morosely at the toast rack.
He nodded a greeting at me as I took my place. Simms came in and silently placed a glass on a saucer at Frank’s elbow. It contained some strange yellowish-brown beverage.
Simms’s imperturbable manner gave no hints of turmoil within. He asked if I required a hot dish and when informed I did not, simply retired.
‘Have you noticed?’ asked Frank a little hoarsely when the butler had gone. ‘Old Simms seems to have found a way of floating above the carpet? His feet make no sound at all.’ He picked up the yellow-brown drink and gave it a wary look before downing it in one long swallow. ‘Oh, good Lord …’ he muttered.
‘What is that?’ I asked.
‘Beaten raw egg and sherry. It is Simms’s cure for a – a headache.’
‘You were drinking,’ I said. ‘I heard you return.’
‘Wouldn’t a man need a drink after what I had to do?’ he returned sullenly.
I was not hungry, either. I had scraped butter across a piece of toast but it looked as desirable as a piece of cardboard.
‘What had you to do, Frank?’ I asked in a quiet voice, though I thought I could guess. If I was right, poor Frank had had a harrowing time of it.
‘That confounded fellow, Ross the inspector, dragged me down to the—he insisted I go with him to see her. He wanted her identity confirmed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That must have been very unpleasant.’
‘Oh well,’ said Frank, rallying a little. ‘It’s over and done and we know what happened to her. Or, rather, we don’t. We only know some villain beat her to death with an implement of some kind.’
‘Is that how she died?’ I asked awkwardly.
‘So I gather. They had covered the wound. I was spared gazing on that.’
‘She was found in Agar Town,’ I said. ‘Was it in one of Aunt Parry’s properties?’
‘No idea,’ he returned moodily.
‘You did not tell me, when you told me she had owned houses there, that they were slum dwellings.’
Frank brought his bloodshot gaze to bear on me for the first time. ‘Well, they weren’t palaces, I dare say. But poor people have to live somewhere and someone has to own the houses. They paid next to no rent so they couldn’t expect much. I don’t doubt they managed. Such people know no better.’
I opened my mouth to argue it out vigorously with him, but closed it again. Frank was in no fit state for debate and I decided to overlook his careless way of talking of the wretched inhabitants of Agar Town. He had gone through a dreadful experience and to expect him to expend sympathy on the hypothetical tenants of Aunt Parry’s former properties was useless.
‘Was Tibbett here last night?’ Frank asked. ‘I suppose he was. He will be in his element now.’
‘He wasn’t, as it happened,’ I told him. ‘A note was sent to him but he was out.’
Frank uttered a growl. ‘Then he’ll be here first thing this afternoon, you’ll see. It’s Thursday, too, and his day to dine, confound it. Well, I am off to work and hope that my superiors don’t take the poor view of all of this they probably will. Her Majesty’s Government does not like embarrassments of this sort among its minions!’
Simms glided in again and stopped by Frank’s chair. ‘I should inform you, sir, that two police officers have arrived, a sergeant and a constable. They are in the kitchen and wish to take statements from the staff. It will cause some disruption, I fear, to the smooth running of the house this morning.’
‘Well, I shan’t be here to experience it,’ said Frank brusquely. ‘And Mrs Parry probably won’t come down before noon, as usual. They don’t want to see her, do they?’
‘No, sir, I gather their business is with the staff only.’
‘How is Mrs Simms taking it?’ I asked him. ‘And Wilkins and — the other girl?’ I had almost called her Perkins but that had been one of Frank’s poor-taste jokes and I must find out the other maid’s name. I asked Simms now what it was.
‘Ellis, miss. Mrs Simms is bearing up well, thank you. So is Hester Nugent. Wilkins and Ellis …’ Here emotion struggled to break through his glacial reserve. ‘I regret, miss, that the two young persons in question appear to be enjoying themselves thoroughly.’
‘There you are, then,’ said Frank to me. ‘It’s an ill wind, isn’t that what they say? An ill wind that blows no good to anyone?’ He gave a sudden bitter laugh, before pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. ‘I must be off. I have to persuade all those old fellows at the Foreign Office that I am not a louche type, the female members of whose household are apt to be foully done to
death in disreputable surroundings. If panic and disorder break out in the kitchen you will have to deal with it, Lizzie. I’ll see you this evening.’
death in disreputable surroundings. If panic and disorder break out in the kitchen you will have to deal with it, Lizzie. I’ll see you this evening.’
I did not remember telling him he could call me Lizzie in that familiar way. I hadn’t minded Inspector Ross using that version of my name. He was remembering me as a child. But with Frank it followed the pattern of his casual manner with others. Bessie was simply ‘the mushroom’. All housemaids were called Wilkins or Perkins and all companions, although not exactly servants and in my case almost a relation, were called by some diminutive of their names. Maddie Hexham. Lizzie Martin. I glared but could say nothing in front of Simms.
Simms had something to say for himself. ‘If there is an upset below stairs, sir,
I
shall take care of it.’
I
shall take care of it.’
As Frank had foreseen, Dr Tibbett arrived that afternoon. He had by now heard the news. I think there were few left in London who hadn’t. There had certainly been an increase in the number of people, total strangers, who wandered casually past the house, casting surreptitious looks at it and whispering together. Eventually Aunt Parry ordered the curtains drawn.
‘We are, after all,’ she said, as we settled down in the resultant gloom,
‘almost
a house in mourning. With all her faults, Madeleine’s memory should be paid the basic respects.’
‘almost
a house in mourning. With all her faults, Madeleine’s memory should be paid the basic respects.’
Once DrTibbett arrived it quickly became obvious this respect for the memory of the deceased did not extend to speaking well of her.
‘My dear friend,’ he exclaimed on entering, striding across the carpet to take her hand. ‘You must be quite devastated. But bear up, dear lady, bear up! Good afternoon to you, Miss Martin.’ The last remark was an afterthought.
‘Good afternoon, Dr Tibbett,’ I replied. ‘We are bearing up well, you will be pleased to know. Mrs Parry in particular is a splendid example to us all.’
He gave me a quick look and Aunt Parry’s expression became nonplussed as she digested my words. On the one hand, she appreciated the vote of confidence. On the other, it meant that she could not now give way to unseemly laments, not if she was bearing up so well.
‘I expected no less,’ said Tibbett gravely. ‘You have the heart of a lion, my dear friend. I feared something like this, you know. That girl always struck me as a dissembler. With my many years’ experience as a schoolmaster, I am attuned, you might say, to spotting weakness of character, a
faiblesse
for shirking responsibility and a tendency to tell lies. That young person could never look me in the eye. Aha! I thought when I first saw her here. This is one to watch!’
faiblesse
for shirking responsibility and a tendency to tell lies. That young person could never look me in the eye. Aha! I thought when I first saw her here. This is one to watch!’
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