So Bad a Death (32 page)

Tony had kept the dummy all that time. And I had not known about it until then. The morning after someone had entered the nursery through the long low window to make a desperate search.

I examined it closely, and then went quickly to the bathroom. In the medicine chest was a jar of malt extract, the comforter smear I had confiscated from Yvonne. Tony clamoured for a taste as I unscrewed the lid. The jar was now more than half empty. I wrapped up both articles with shaking hands. Now that I had a plan in mind I no longer dawdled. I told Constable Cornell to be ready in ten minutes and hurried Tony back to the nursery to dress for outdoors.

We strolled down to the village as casually as I could manage. I tried to resist the urge to keep glancing over my shoulder to see if my policeman was still there. Being shadowed took some getting used to. The High Street was crowded with housewives doing their shopping. It wasn't so bad when we mingled with them. My watchdog had more chance of looking unobtrusive. But each time I chatted with someone I knew, I felt that they must guess who the man staring into the window ten yards away was. I imagined their eyes going over my shoulder curiously and waited to hear it said: “My dear, don't look now, but I'm positive that man over there is following you. He has such an odd look about him.”

I ran into Mrs Ames and paused to comment on the weather. As usual she kept her face averted. I followed her into the local pharmacy and pretended to glance through the trade magazine as she was being served. I wanted a completely clear coast before I stated my requests.

She spoke in her usual flat, toneless voice, but the words were unintelligible. They sounded the jargon only a physician or a chemist would understand. Like the weird hieroglyphics on a doctor's prescription. I was surprised to hear a lay person speak the language of medicinal formula.

The chemist came back from his dispensary with a sealed bottle. He handed this to Mrs Ames.

I nodded good-bye and watched her out of the shop.

“What on earth was that all about?” I asked, as the chemist bent one discreet ear towards me.

“The lady who has just gone out? She always does that. It saves such a lot of time when the patient can repeat the formula. I just whip into the dispensary, whip up the medicine and out again without any waiting. I think she must have been in the business at one time.”

I saw someone outside the shop and hurried into my unorthodox request. My standing as the wife of a police officer stood me in good stead. The chemist eyed me with a curiosity which belied his discreet tones, and agreed to my proposal. I passed my little package over the counter quickly.

It was only just in time. Constable Cornell passed across the doorway throwing in a casual glance. I hurriedly snatched up a tin of patent baby food that Tony had long since outgrown. The chemist told me to come back later. He would see what he could do in the meantime.

I went to kick my heels for an hour in the village. It was not worth going home, so I betook myself to the lending library to browse amongst the books. I felt sorry trailing Constable Cornell in that selfish way, but the suspicion that he was spying on as well as guarding me salved my conscience. I was planning a few cutting remarks to be directed at John, whose idea Constable Cornell was, when I was bumped into the road. It was accidental that time, I was certain. But it came as rather a shock when I recognized Mr Cruikshank. He had catapulted out of his shop and I had not been heeding my surroundings. He muttered an apology. I said the first thing that came into my mind.

“You and your sister seem to make a habit of knocking me over, Mr Cruikshank.” The agent shot me a quick terrified look. He glanced left and right and then retreated into the shop.

The library had been my objective so in I went. Constable Cornell was near at hand so I felt quite safe. I was tired of playing the game
in the dark. It was time someone attacked in the open. In the broad light of day with my guardian watching every move, I was more annoyed than frightened at the remembrance of the string in the Holland drive and the affair at the bus stop. I felt an urge to be nasty.

Cruikshank put the counter between himself and the onslaught. The fact that the library was empty only deepened my desire for a fight. The stage seemed set for the purpose.

I made certain of receiving a bedspread I had left to be cleaned before I started. I watched him wrap it up and saw his fingers shake and fumble with the string.

“By the way, Mr Cruikshank,” I said, putting a firm hand on the parcel. “How is the sick aunt? Any more attacks lately?”

He muttered something inaudibly.

I went on scornfully: “It was providential that she demanded your presence at her bedside at a time when the late Mr Holland was checking up on your position as his agent.”

He was silent. His eyes darted now and then towards the door. I leaned over the counter.

“How quickly she recovered! You were able to return just after Mr Holland's death when Middleburn was no longer a place of embarrassment. I think you follow me, Mr Cruikshank,” I added quickly as he started to make some protest. “Mr Holland had you sized up. He knew your little games, just as the police do now.”

“The police!” The agent looked terrified.

“Certainly,” I said, throwing discretion to the wind. “They have known all the time. They are waiting for the opportunity to tie up your disappearance with Mr Holland's murder. It is never wise to run away, Mr Cruikshank. Flight draws instant suspicion. You have a much better chance if you stay and try to bluff your innocence.”

He shook all over as though with a sudden ague. “Will you leave my shop!” he whispered. “You don't know what you're saying.”

“Oh, yes, I do, and I am not leaving until I have finished my piece. I don't like murder, Mr Cruikshank. I am married to a man whose job it is to solve such crimes. I wonder what he would do if he knew
that his wife was nearly another victim of the Middleburn killer? I doubt whether he would stop to complete that tie-up I mentioned.”

The agent's face was livid. His voice rose. “You're mad. I don't know what you are talking about.”

“It is fortunate that I do. There are several things you and your sister,” I added, noticing Maud peeping round a bookcase, “will have to explain to the police sooner or later. I am warning you now just in case you are both planning another string across my path or a convenient bus to push me under. I trust I make myself clear?”

Cruikshank opened his mouth again, and shut it quickly as his squeaking door was opened. I had finished what I wanted to say. I even had the satisfaction of the last word. I was about to pick up my parcel from the counter, when someone from behind tossed down a book to be exchanged. I noted the title automatically, as do all bookworms.

Then a familiar, flat voice spoke my name. “Mr Jenkins said he was ready for you, Mrs Matheson.”

It was Mrs Ames again. I frowned in a sudden uneasiness. Her words had startled me. Jenkins was the chemist. He must have completed the job already. But Mrs Ames had been served in the shop before me.

My heart began to beat hard. For some reason I was nervous.

Mrs Ames still stood alongside me. She had made no move to wander around the bookshelves. Cruikshank was quiet behind the counter, but his eyes, alive with malice, were on my face. Even Maud Cruikshank had come out from her shelter to watch me. Now that I had satisfied my anger I felt lost and bewildered. I was just the right material for fear to invade.

I tried to jerk my head away from those watching faces, but could not. I could hear Tony's voice calling from the pusher outside the shop, but I felt unable to get out to him. I was frightened—frightened lest something was going to happen to me before I reached the door. I dared not move until I had broken free from the influence of those three people.

Then the door squeaked again. I could not look around, but I felt an overwhelming relief. The noise of that unoiled hinge meant
safety from some intangible terror. Constable Cornell stood beside me at the counter. He gave no hint of recognition and addressed Cruikshank. He wanted some envelopes. I remember wondering why he wanted to buy them and not a writing pad. Mrs Ames moved away and Cruikshank turned his back to search the shelves behind the counter. Curiously limp and tired, I left the shop.

II

I made my way back to the pharmacy, my mind vague and far away. I did not know what it was I had experienced, but I felt very alone and lost again.

It took Mr Jenkins four explanations to succeed in bringing me down to earth. Technically, each explanation of the test he had made was well above my head. When I realized that the gist of it coincided with my own suspicions, I became more practical.

“Will you do me a favour?” I requested. “Make up what you have told me into a written report and hold it until I ask you for it. Keep the dum—”

“Brhp,” said Mr Jenkins ostentatiously.

I turned round. Constable Cornell stood beside the weighing machine set near the doorway. He held his packet of envelopes in one hand, while from the other dangled the parcel I had left on Cruikshank's counter.

Cornell said in a polite stranger's voice: “Left this down the road, didn't you? They said it was yours.”

I thanked him in an even politer and more distant voice. I did not care for Constable Cornell's habit of popping up at opportune and inopportune moments so readily. When he asked Mr Jenkins for a packet of envelopes my misgivings deepened.

“That will be all for me, thank you, Mr Jenkins,” I said in a clear frank voice. “I'll let you know when I want those things.”

The chemist nodded in a casual manner. Between us we would not have deceived Tony, let alone a member of John's squad. Cornell was weighing up the merits of different paper as I left.

I felt very satisfied with the morning's work. The emotional disturbance in the library was only a ripple on the surface compared with the evidence I now held and the pleasure I had had in haranguing Cruikshank.

I saw Daisy Potts-Power and smiled at her warmly instead of trying to avoid her eye. She kept me in conversation for some time which I made no attempt to limit, out of pure malice. Constable Cornell was obliged to stare at a window full of ladies' lingerie for ten minutes. However, he showed no sign of embarrassment or impatience.

Daisy asked me when I was going to call on “poor mother” again. I made a vague promise and then changed it to an interested: “Very soon. Tell her I am looking forward to concluding our conversation.”

Daisy was puzzled by the cryptic remark.

“Mrs Matheson,” called a voice from the kerb. I turned my head. The sister in charge of the Health Centre had drawn up in her car. The engine was still running.

I cut Daisy off quickly and went over to the car. Sister Heather looked disturbed.

“What is it?” I asked at once. She switched off the engine.

“I went along to your home but you were out. I was hoping I'd catch you in the village. I want to talk to you.”

“Just a minute,” I said, and parked Tony against a shop window which would keep him entertained for a while. Sister Heather opened the door of the car and I climbed in beside her.

“Yes, what is it, sister?”

She regarded me long and earnestly before she spoke. “Mrs Matheson, you are very friendly with Mrs Holland, are you not?”

“I don't know about the ‘very.' I have seen her quite a deal since we moved to Middleburn. Let us say I am very interested in her and her baby.”

My companion spoke drily. “Yes. You succeeded in bringing her down to the Centre.” The remark was as cryptic as the one I had made to Daisy Potts-Power, but I was not puzzled by it. I waited for her to continue.

Sister Heather waited for Constable Cornell to pass the car before she spoke. “You have influence with her. I am asking you to use it. Persuade her to leave the Hall at once.”

I gave the nurse a quick, searching glance. “That would require a great deal of influence on my part. Do you think I am qualified enough?”

She nodded.

“Why do you want her to leave?” I asked bluntly.

Sister Heather spread out her hands wearily. “Does the reason matter? I think you have guessed it, even if you do not know for certain already.”

“I might,” I agreed, with caution. “Supposing I do persuade Yvonne Holland to leave, where is she to go? She has no relatives.”

Sister Heather was quite unembarrassed as she made her suggestion. “I want her to stay with you. You have plenty of room at your place to put her up.”

“Here, I say!” I protested. “I admitted I was interested but I didn't say we were bosom friends. I can't take strange mothers and their children in just because they are being persecuted. Ten to one she wouldn't come, anyway.”

“I think you could make her come, Mrs Matheson.”

“Influence, sister?”

“Amongst other things. She won't see me or—or Doctor Trefont. You are the only other one who has any working knowledge of the Hall. If you were to talk to her frankly, I don't think there would be any difficulty.”