Cover Her Face (11 page)

Here Catherine paused and Dalgliesh waited patiently, but with a quickening of interest. In the corner Sergeant Martin turned over a page of his notebook in practised silence and cast a quick sidelong glance at his chief. Unless he was much mistaken the old man’s thumbs were pricking now. “Yes, Miss Bowers,” prompted Dalgliesh inexorably. His witness went bravely on.

“I’m afraid this part you may find rather strange but it all seemed perfectly natural at the time. As you can understand, the scene before dinner had been a great shock to me. I couldn’t believe that Stephen and this girl were engaged. It wasn’t he who had broken the news after all, and I don’t think for one moment that he had really proposed to her. Dinner had been a terrible meal as you can imagine and, afterwards, everyone had gone on behaving as if nothing had happened. Of course, the Maxies never do show their feelings but Mrs. Riscoe went off with Mr. Hearne and I’ve no doubt
they had a good talk about it and what could be done. But no one said anything to me although, in a sense, I was the one who was most concerned. I thought that Mrs. Maxie might have discussed it with me after the other two guests had left, but I could see that she didn’t mean to.

“When I got to my room I realized that if I didn’t do something no one would. I couldn’t bear to lie there all night without knowing the worst. I felt I just had to find out the truth. The natural thing seemed to be to ask Sally. I thought that if she and I could only have a private talk together I might be able to get it all straightened out. I knew that it was late but it seemed the only chance. I had been lying there in the dark for some time but, when I had made up my mind, I put on the bedside lamp and looked at my watch. It said three minutes to midnight. That didn’t seem so very late in the mood I was in.

“I put on my dressing-gown and took my pocket torch with me and went to Sally’s room. Her door was locked but I could see that the light was on because it was shining through the keyhole. I knocked on the door and called her softly. The door is very strong as you know, but she must have heard me because the next thing I heard was the sound of the bolt being shot home and the light from the keyhole was suddenly obscured as she stood in front of it. I knocked and called once more but it was obvious that she wasn’t going to let me in, so I turned and went back to my room. On the way there I suddenly thought I had to see Stephen. I couldn’t face going back to bed in the same uncertainty. I thought that he might be wanting to confide in me. So I turned back from my own bedroom door and went to his. The light wasn’t on so I knocked gently and went in. I felt that if only I could see him everything would be all right.”

“And was it?” asked Dalgliesh. This time the air of cheerful confidence had gone. There could be no mistaking the sudden pain in those unattractive eyes.

“He wasn’t there, Inspector. The bed was turned down ready for the night but he wasn’t there.” She made a sudden effort to return to her former manner and gave him a smile which was almost pathetic in its artificiality. “Of course, I know now that Stephen had been to see Bocock, but it was very disappointing at the time.”

“It must have been,” agreed Dalgliesh gravely.

Mrs. Maxie seated herself quietly and composedly, offered him whatever facilities he needed and only hoped that the investigation could be carried out without disturbing her husband who was gravely ill and incapable of realizing what had happened.

Watching her across the desk Dalgliesh could see what her daughter might become in thirty years’ time. Her strong, capable, jewelled hands lay inertly in her lap. Even at that distance he could see how alike they were to the hands of her son. With greater interest he noticed that the nails, like the nails on the surgeon’s fingers, were cut very short. He could detect no sign of nervousness. She seemed rather to personify the peaceful acceptance of an inevitable trial. It was not, he felt, that she had schooled herself to endurance. Here was a true serenity based on some kind of central stability which would take more than a murder investigation to disturb.

She answered his questions with a deliberate thoughtful-ness. It was as if she was setting her own value on every word. But there was nothing new that she could tell. She corroborated
the evidence of Catherine Bowers about the discovery of the body and her account of the previous day agreed with the accounts already given. After the departure of Miss Liddell and Dr. Epps at about half past ten, she had locked up the house with the exception of the drawing-room window and the back door. Miss Bowers had been with her. Together they had collected their mugs of milk from the kitchen—only her son’s then remained on the tray—and together they had gone up to bed.

She had spent the night half sleeping and half watching her husband. She had heard and seen nothing unusual. No one had come near her until Miss Bowers had arrived early and had asked her for aspirin. She had known nothing of the tablets said to have been discovered in her husband’s bed and found the story very difficult to believe. In her view it was impossible for him to have hidden anything in his mattress without Mrs. Bultitaft finding it. Her son had told her nothing of the incident, but had mentioned that he had substituted a medicine for the pills. She had not been surprised at this. She had thought that he was trying some new preparation from the hospital and was confident that he would have prescribed nothing without the approval of Dr. Epps.

Not until the patient, probing questions on her son’s engagement was her composure shaken. Even then it was irritation rather than fear which gave an edge to her voice. Dalgliesh sensed that the smooth apologies with which he usually prefaced embarrassing questions would be out of place here, would be resented more than the questions themselves. He asked bluntly: “What was your attitude, madam, to this engagement between Miss Jupp and your son?”

“It hardly lasted long enough to be dignified with that name surely. And I’m surprised that you bother to ask, Inspector. You must know that I would disapprove strongly.”

“Well, that was frank enough,” thought Dalgliesh. “But what else could she say? We would scarcely believe that she liked it.”

“Even though her affection for your son could have been genuine?”

“I am paying her the compliment of assuming that it was. What difference does that make? I would still have disapproved. They had nothing in common. He would have had to support another man’s child. It would have hindered his career and they would have disliked each other within a year. These King Cophetua marriages seldom work out. How can they? No girl of spirit likes to think she’s been condescended to and Sally had plenty of spirit even if she chose not to show it. Furthermore, I fail to see what they would have married on. Stephen has very little money of his own. Of course I disapproved of this so-called engagement. Would you wish for such a marriage for your son?”

For one unbelievable second Dalgliesh thought that she knew. It was a commonplace, almost banal argument which any mother faced with her circumstances might casually have used. She could not possibly have realized its force. He wondered what she would say if he replied, “I have no son. My only child and his mother died three hours after he was born. I have no son to marry anyone—suitable or unsuitable.” He could imagine her frown of well-bred distaste that he should embarrass her at such a time with a private grief at once so old, so intimate, so unrelated to the matter at hand. He replied briefly: “No. I should not wish it either. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time with what must seem no one’s business but your own. But you must see its importance.”

“Naturally. From your point of view it provides a motive for several people, myself particularly. But one does not kill to
avoid social inconvenience. I admit I intended to do all I could to stop them marrying. I was going to have a talk with Stephen next day. I’ve no doubt we should have been able to do something for Sally without the necessity of welcoming her into the family. There must be a limit to what these people expect.”

The sudden bitterness of her last sentence roused even Sergeant Martin from the routine automatism of his notetaking. But if Mrs. Maxie realized that she had said too much she did not aggravate her error by saying more. Watching her, Dalgliesh thought how like a picture she was, an advertisement in water-colour for toilet water or soap. Even the low bowl of flowers on the desk between them emphasized her serene gentility as if placed there by the cunning hand of a commercial photographer. “Picture of an English lady at home,” he thought, and wondered what the Chief Superintendent would make of her and, if it ever came to that, what a jury would make of her. Even his mind, accustomed to finding wickedness in strange as well as high places, could not easily reconcile Mrs. Maxie with murder. But her last words had been revealing.

He decided to leave the marriage question at present and concentrate on other aspects of the investigation. Again he went over the account of the preparation of the nightly hot drinks. There could be no confusion about the ownership of the different mugs. The Wedgwood blue one found at Sally’s side belonged to Deborah Riscoe. The milk for the drinks was placed on top of the stove. It was a solid-fuel stove with heavy covers on each of the hot-plates. The saucepan of milk was left on top of one of these covers where there could be no danger of its boiling over. Any of the family wanting to boil milk would transfer the saucepan to the hot-plate and replace it afterwards on top of the cover. Only the family’s mugs and
cups for their guests were placed on the tray. She could not say what Sally or Mrs. Bultitaft usually drank at night but, certainly, none of the family drank cocoa. They were not fond of chocolate.

“It comes to this, doesn’t it,” said Dalgliesh. “If, as I am now assuming, the post-mortem shows that Miss Jupp was drugged and the analysis of the cocoa shows that the drug was in her last night drink, then we are faced with two possibilities. She could have taken the drug herself, perhaps for no worse reason than to get a good sleep after the excitement of the day. Or someone else drugged her for a reason which we must discover but which is not so difficult to guess. Miss Jupp, as far as is known, was a healthy young woman. If this crime was premeditated her murderer must have considered how he—or she—could get into that room and kill the girl with the least possible disturbance. To drug her is an obvious answer. That supposes that the murderer is familiar with the evening drink routine at Martingale and knew where the drugs were kept. I suppose a member of your household or a guest is familiar with your household routine?”

“Surely then he would know that the Wedgwood beaker belonged to my daughter. Are you satisfied, Inspector, that the drug was intended for Sally?”

“Not entirely. But I am satisfied that the killer did not mistake Miss Jupp’s neck for Mrs. Riscoe’s. Let us assume for the present that the drug was intended for Miss Jupp. It could have been put into the saucepan of milk, the Wedgwood beaker itself either before or after the drink was made, into the tin of cocoa, or into the sugar. You and Miss Bowers made your drinks from the milk in the same saucepan and sugared them from the bowl on the table without ill effects. I don’t think that the drug was put in the empty beaker. It is
brownish in colour and would be easily seen against the blue china. That leaves us with two possibilities. Either it was crumbled into the dry cocoa or it was dissolved in the hot drink some time after Miss Jupp made it but before she drank it.”

“I don’t think the latter is possible, Inspector. Mrs. Bultitaft always puts on the hot milk at ten. At about twenty-five minutes past we saw Sally carrying her mug up to her room.”

“Who do you mean by ‘we’, Mrs. Maxie?”

“Dr. Epps, Miss Liddell and myself saw her. I’d been upstairs with Miss Liddell to fetch her coat. When we came back into the hall Dr. Epps joined us from the business room. As we stood there together Sally came from the kitchen end of the house and went up the main staircase carrying the blue Wedgwood beaker on its saucer. She was wearing pyjamas and a dressing-gown. We all three saw her but no one spoke. Miss Liddell and Dr. Epps left at once.”

“Was it usual for Miss Jupp to use that staircase?”

“No. The back one leads more directly from the kitchen to her room. I think she was trying to make some kind of gesture.”

“Although she couldn’t have known that she would meet anyone in the hall?”

“No. I don’t see how she could have known that.”

“You say that you noticed that Miss Jupp was carrying Mrs. Riscoe’s beaker. Did you mention this to either of your guests or remonstrate to Miss Jupp about it?”

Mrs Maxie smiled faintly. For the second time the delicate claw was unsheathed.

“What old-fashioned ideas you have, Inspector! Did you expect me to tear it from her grasp to the embarrassment of my guests and the satisfaction of Sally herself? What an exciting and exhausting world yours must be.”

Dalgliesh pursued his question undeterred by this gentle irony. But he was interested to know that his witness could be provoked.

“What happened after Miss Liddell and Dr. Epps left?”

“I rejoined Miss Bowers in the business room where we tidied up the papers and locked away the bags of money in the safe. We then went to the kitchen and made our drinks. I had hot milk and Miss Bowers made Ovaltine. She likes it very sweet and added sugar from the bowl set ready. We carried our drinks to the dressing-room next to my husband’s bedroom where I spend the nights when I am on duty nursing him. Miss Bowers helped me to remake my husband’s bed. I suppose we spent about twenty minutes together. Then she said ‘good night’ and left.”

“Having had her Ovaltine?”

“Yes. It was too hot to drink at once but she sat down and finished it before she left me.”

“Did she go to the drug cupboard while she was with you?”

“No. Neither of us did. My son had given his father something earlier to make him sleep and he appeared to be dozing. There was nothing to do for him except make his bed as comfortable as possible. I was glad of Miss Bowers’s help. She is a trained nurse and, together, we were able to tidy the bed without disturbing him.”