The Judgement of Strangers (20 page)

He nodded, and I had an uneasy sense that I might not have misled him. ‘How did she seem? In good spirits?’

‘As well as could be expected. Dr Vintner can fill you in on her state of health, if he hasn’t already. But she was declining rapidly. She was also in a great deal of pain. But yes, we had a chat, and I left at about half past five.’

‘How mobile was she? In general, I mean.’

‘It rather depended how she felt.’ I could not see where these questions were tending. ‘She spent most of her time in her bed or in her chair. But she could move about with the help of a Zimmer frame.’

‘Could you describe to us exactly what happened this morning? What you saw at the Old Manor House?’

‘Everything? I don’t understand.’

‘It was unfortunate, sir. After you and the doctor had been, Mrs Potter was by herself in the house for upwards of an hour. No doubt the poor lady was in a state of shock. Anyway, she started tidying up. Moved the old lady into her chair. Covered her up. Hoovered. When she opened the door to us, she had a duster in her hand.’

‘Perhaps she didn’t realize that she shouldn’t move anything.’

‘The doctor said he’d told her.’

‘Then,’ I said, ‘as you say, it must have been the shock. But why is this so important? Does the coroner think that Lady Youlgreave’s death was suspicious?’

‘We have to tie up the loose ends.’ He veered away on a tangent. ‘Talking of which, how did people get in if they called at the house when Mrs Potter wasn’t there?’

‘There’s a key hidden at the back of the house. It’s been there for years.’

‘Who knew about it?’

‘Anyone who needed to, I imagine. I think Mrs Potter has her own key, but there are a number of other people who went in regularly, and they would use the key in the kitchen yard if Mrs Potter wasn’t there to let them in. It’s under the flowerpot by the door.’ I paused, assembling the possibilities. ‘I knew about it, and so did Dr Vintner and the Fishguard Agency. There’s a weekly delivery from Harrods, and I know the man sometimes let himself in when Mrs Potter wasn’t there. And there may well have been others. Do you think that Lady Youlgreave had another visitor after Doris Potter left on Friday evening?’

‘I don’t know what to think yet, sir. I’m just working out the possibilities. Would Mrs Byfield know about the key?’

‘Yes, she did.’

Clough looked at me, waiting for more.

‘My wife has been working on Lady Youlgreave’s family papers during the last few weeks. She used to sit with Lady Youlgreave in the dining room, and work on them there.’

‘What about the dogs? How do they react to visitors?’

‘They bark if they have the energy.’ I swallowed. ‘Too old to do anything else except eat and sleep.’

‘So if a stranger turned up, they wouldn’t have seen him off the premises?’

‘I doubt it. They might have barked, but no one outside the house would have heard.’

Clough nodded. ‘And now, could you tell us what happened this morning?’

I leant back in my chair. ‘We were having breakfast in the kitchen when Mrs Potter phoned. It was a little after eight o’clock. She was very upset. But I understood from her that Lady Youlgreave was dead. She said something about the dogs, too, but …’ I swallowed. ‘But I thought the shock had made her confused – even hysterical. I phoned Dr Vintner and then went round to the Old Manor House at once. The dogs were in the back garden. There’s an iron gate at the side of the house and they were poking their noses through the bars and barking at the dustmen.’

‘Did the dustmen know what was happening?’

‘Not as far as I know. Their lorry was parked on the road. One of them had just collected the bin by the gate.’ He had been a grimy little man who had not wanted to meet my eyes. I had said, ‘Good morning,’ automatically, but he walked past me as though I were somewhere else; and all the time he whistled ‘Waltzing Matilda’ at a tempo suitable for a funeral.

‘And where was Mrs Potter?’

‘She opened the front door before I rang the bell.’
Pink-rimmed eyes but no tears. Cheeks pale and lined like crumpled handkerchiefs
. ‘She took me along to the dining room straightaway and showed me Lady Youlgreave.’

Clough was turning his pipe round and round in his hands. ‘Take your time, sir. Take your time. Tell us exactly what you saw, what the room was like, where the old lady was.’

I swallowed again. ‘She was lying face down on the carpet near the window. Roughly midway between her chair and the fireplace. Her head was by the corner of the fender. The Zimmer frame was on the hearthrug, lying on its side.’

I paused and reached for a cigarette. The room had smelled of faeces and urine, human and canine. I saw the telephone on the table and the tin trunk on the floor. Lady Youlgreave’s father-in-law glowered down on us from his vantage point above the fireplace.

‘She was in her night clothes.’
A nightdress, bed socks up to the knee, a dressing gown. Her head lying on its side on the hearthrug, eyes open wide as if in astonishment, and mouth open wide, too, as though snapping at a fly. Bare pink gums. I had never seen Lady Youlgreave without her teeth
. ‘The nightdress had ridden up, or perhaps the dogs had pushed it up. Up to the waist.’
Pale, wrinkled legs; not much strength in them and not much nourishment either. Brown stains, and in those parts which were relatively fleshy, the sight of raw meat
. ‘The dogs had obviously been starving,’ I went on slowly. ‘I suppose that’s why James Vintner had to get in touch with the coroner’s officer … You know what dogs are like when they get old, Sergeant? Often their training begins to slip away from them. Their taboos no longer have the same force. Like humans, really. They had tried to eat her –’

I broke off. Clough stared blandly across the desk at me. Franklyn wrote in his notebook.

‘Damn it,’ I burst out, surprising myself as much as the two policemen. ‘What have you done with the dogs?’

‘Don’t you worry about that, sir,’ Clough said. ‘We’ll look after them for the time being. Now, to go back to this morning: tell me about the rest of the room.’

‘It was much as usual.’ Apart from a pile of dogs’ excrement beside Lady Youlgreave’s armchair.

‘Were the curtains drawn across the window?’

‘No.’

‘The table by the chair: was there anything on that?’

‘I think there was a book.’ A slim volume in a green leather binding:
The Voice of Angels
. ‘I suppose she must have got up after Mrs Potter left her in bed. Her bedroom’s next to the dining room. She probably went in there and read for a bit. And then she stood up and tripped, I imagine.’

‘Suppose you’re right,’ Clough said. ‘She stands up. Why should she move towards the fireplace?’

‘Her medicine was there.’

‘Ah. The medicine.’ Clough scratched the sparse tuft of hair above his right ear. ‘Now that’s interesting. It’s in a bottle, right? You know what it looks like?’

I nodded.

‘And did you notice it this morning?’

‘No. I had other things on my mind.’ I remembered Lady Youlgreave’s hunger for her medicine. ‘I suppose she was going to give herself a dose, and as she walked towards it, she stumbled on something. The edge of the hearthrug, perhaps.’

There was a silence. Something was wrong, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Franklyn yawned. Clough stared over my shoulder and out of the window, his face sad.

‘Wait a moment,’ I said slowly. ‘When I was there on Friday, Doris said something about leaving her medicine out in the bedroom.’

‘She did. In three separate glasses to cover the period until the nurse turned up on Saturday morning. But they’d been knocked over.’

‘So that would explain her going into the dining room?’

Clough did not answer. ‘Tell me, Mr Byfield, have you known Mrs Potter long?’

‘A good ten years.’

‘Reliable, is she?’

‘Extremely reliable. She’s a regular churchgoer so I know her well. And she’s done a great deal for Lady Youlgreave.’

‘Surely she was paid for that?’

‘I don’t think the money was particularly important. Lady Youlgreave and Mrs Potter had known each other for years.’

I pulled myself up short, knowing that I was on the verge of becoming angry. In their own way, the two women had been friends; and Doris had given far more than she had ever received. Clough’s questions were like a cynical chisel, chipping away at Doris’s kindness.

‘So Mrs Potter and the old lady got on well?’

‘Very well.’

Clough sighed. ‘We have to ask these questions, sir. I know it must seem tiresome, but there it is.’

‘Will there be an inquest?’

‘Not for me to say, sir. It depends on what the coroner thinks.’

I allowed my eyes to stray back to the notes I’d been making for Vanessa. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘No, not at present.’ Clough stood up and extended his hand to me. ‘Thank you for your time.’

We shook hands and I came round the desk to show them out. As I stood up, I caught movement in the corner of my eye – movement on the other side of the window. I looked out and was just in time to see Michael running to the side of the house. Had he been eavesdropping? The window was open. Clough and Franklyn seemed to have noticed nothing.

I followed them into the hall. ‘Sergeant?’

Clough turned back. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Just a couple of points about Miss Oliphant’s cat.’

‘Ah. This won’t take long, will it?’

‘No. But I thought I should let you know that there was something on Lady Youlgreave’s bird table the other day. She told my wife and me that she thought it was a head.’

‘A
head
?’

‘A small one, badly pecked by birds. We wondered if it might have been the cat’s.’

‘Did you have a look?’

‘Yes, but by the time I did, there was no trace of it.’ I paused, then added: ‘She said someone brought it there in a paper bag.’

There was a snuffling sound from Franklyn: barely concealed laughter.

‘So who did she say put it there?’ Clough said.

‘She couldn’t or wouldn’t say.’

‘I see.’ He put his hand on the door handle. ‘And did you say there was something else?’

‘You remember I phoned you about the place where the cat might have been cut up?’

Clough nodded.

‘It’s called Carter’s Meadow. Our local poet, Francis Youlgreave, is said to have cut up a cat in the same place.’

After another pause, Clough said, ‘Thank you, sir. All a bit speculative, if you don’t mind me saying so, a bit vague. But I’ll bear it in mind.’ He opened the front door. On the threshold, however, he stopped and turned back to me. ‘Oh – by the way. You know those young people up at Roth Park? The Cliffords?’

I felt myself tense. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you know if they ever met Lady Youlgreave?’

‘Not to my knowledge. They’ve not been living here that long.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Clough put his hands in his pockets and sauntered towards the car, where Franklyn was unlocking the driver’s door. Franklyn was still snuffling happily.

‘Why?’ I called after him.
First Trask, now Clough
.

‘Just wondered,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘After all, they were neighbours.’

Shortly after the police left, I went to visit the widow of the man who had died over the weekend. She lived in one of the council houses on Manor Farm Lane, not far from the Potters’. The house was full of relations, and the television was on all the time I was there. I did what I could and left as soon as was decently possible; now the man was dead and the funeral was arranged, I was no longer wanted.

I walked back along the north side of the green. As I was passing the bus shelter, I heard a voice call my name. Audrey was leaning from the window of her first-floor sitting room.

‘Can you spare a moment?’ Her face was bright and alert. ‘One or two points about our fete.’

She came down to meet me in the hall. The tea room had just closed, and Charlene Potter was clearing the tables. She gave me a smile as I passed. I followed Audrey upstairs. She settled me in the wing armchair that had been her father’s. (‘It’s a chair meant for a man, don’t you think? I never sit in it myself.’) She opened the door of her sideboard and took out glasses and a bottle.

‘You’ll join me in a glass of sherry, won’t you?’

‘Thank you.’

She was already pouring sherry into the glasses. ‘Such terribly sad news about Lady Youlgreave. Of course, she was very old and I suppose it could have happened at any time – living by herself in that wreck of a house with only those dogs for company.’ She handed me a brimming glass. ‘I wonder who will inherit. I believe there are Youlgreave cousins in Herefordshire somewhere, but I don’t think they were in touch. And some of them emigrated. New Zealand, was it?’ She settled herself in the chair by the window, sighed with satisfaction, and raised her glass. ‘Chin-chin. She should have gone into a home years ago. She would have had to if Doris hadn’t been there. I told Charlene, “Your mother may think she’s doing Lady Youlgreave a kindness,” I said, “but the poor dear would be much better off in a proper nursing home.” Still, some people just won’t be told.’

I sipped my sherry.

‘Do smoke. It’s Liberty Hall here!’ Audrey jumped up to fetch me an ashtray. ‘Charlene tells me you were actually
there
.’

‘Doris phoned me when she found the body.’

‘It must have been frightful,’ Audrey said with relish. ‘Of course, the police have got it wrong as usual. Typical. I’m not surprised after the way they handled Lord Peter’s death.’

‘What have they got wrong?’

‘Apparently they think that Lady Youlgreave was trying to reach her medicine on the mantelpiece, and she tripped. But it can’t have happened like that. Charlene was quite upset about it. She thinks the police are trying to blame her mother – for leaving the medicine out on the mantelpiece. But that’s nonsense. The whole point of leaving it on the mantelpiece was because Lady Youlgreave couldn’t reach it there.’

Startled, I said, ‘But the mantelpiece isn’t that high.’

‘You obviously hadn’t seen Lady Youlgreave walk lately.’ Audrey wagged a finger at me in playful reproof. ‘She was bent almost double, apparently – because of the crumbling of the spine or something. And she couldn’t raise her arms above her shoulders. That’s why they chose the mantelpiece: for the simple reason she couldn’t reach it. You know how confused these poor old dears can get about whether or not they’ve had their medicine.’

I had found a cigarette and was patting my pockets, searching for matches. Audrey leapt up again to bring me a light. While she was on her feet, she topped up our sherry glasses.

‘And then there’s the fact that she cancelled the nurse from the Fishguard Agency:
very
puzzling.’ Audrey sank down again in her chair, sitting more heavily than before, and sipped her sherry. ‘She didn’t like having a nurse, of course. She was only really happy with Doris. But Dr Vintner made her, for Doris’s sake.’

‘You mentioned something about the fete –’

Audrey was still speaking. ‘There’s also the point that she didn’t like using the telephone …’

She half closed her eyes and stared out of the window. It was an unnatural pose, as rigid as a waxwork’s – and, also like a waxwork, a pose designed with the viewer in mind. I realized suddenly that what I was seeing was the great detective at work: Roth’s answer to Miss Marple.

‘To my mind, there are two alternatives,’ Audrey went on. ‘Either Lady Youlgreave cancelled the nurse, intentionally intending to commit suicide over the weekend. Or she cancelled the nurse simply because she didn’t like her. We have to remember that she was very confused. What with the pain and the morphine she was hardly human any more, was she?’

‘We shall all grow old,’ I said. ‘Or most of us will. Does that make us any less human?’

Already pink, Audrey’s face darkened to red. ‘Just a figure of speech. I’m as sad as anyone that Lady Youlgreave has passed on. It’s the end of an era. The last Youlgreave in Roth. She was so striking as a young woman, too. So dashing. She used to have wonderful parties before the war … I was telling Rosemary how she seemed to us children only the other day – Rosemary could hardly believe me.’

I stubbed out my cigarette carefully in the ashtray. ‘It’s good of you to let Rosemary spend so much time with you.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Audrey cooed, allowing herself to be diverted from Lady Youlgreave. ‘Between you and me, I think she’s rather lonely. If Vanessa were at home in the week, it would be a different story – but Vanessa is a working woman.’ She giggled. ‘So am I: I have always been a career woman and proud of it. But you see, I work at home, and I can choose my own hours. It’s been a real pleasure to see more of her this holiday. Such a lovely girl. More sherry?’

‘No, thank you.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I really should be –’

‘I think I might have a teensy little one.’ Audrey reached out for the bottle. ‘Dr Vintner says that a glass or two of sherry is just the thing to help one unwind after the day’s work.’ The neck of the bottle trembled against the rim of Audrey’s glass and a drop of sherry snaked down the curves of glass and stem, slid across the base and formed a miniature puddle on the gleaming surface of the wine table. ‘She’s been terribly useful in my investigation.’

‘Rosemary has? What’s she been doing exactly?’

Audrey dabbed at the puddle of sherry with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘Nothing to worry about, I promise you. No, she’s made one or two useful suggestions about lines of approach. It washer idea that I asked Mr Malik about who buys his cider. You remember you found a bottle of Autumn Gold with the fur and the blood?’

‘I expect dozens of people buy that particular brand of cider.’

‘Perhaps. But I felt one name was especially significant.’ She lowered her voice to a hiss: Kevin Jones – he’s Charlene’s boyfriend.’

‘I really think you must be very careful.’

‘Oh, but I am. I lock up very carefully and I take the poker upstairs with me.’

‘That’s not what I mean. We don’t know that the cider bottle had anything to do with what happened to Lord Peter. There’s no proof whatsoever. And even if there were, there’s no proof that Charlene’s young man bought the bottle. And even if he did, it wouldn’t follow that he played a part in what happened to Lord Peter.’

Audrey waved her glass and the little liquid it contained slopped dangerously near the brim. ‘I’ve seen him in the bus shelter. He’s one of that gang of louts. He wasn’t there when I called the police. But he might have been. And the others were his friends. I hate to say it, but I have to consider the possibility that’ – once again she lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper – ‘there’s a traitor in the camp. Lord Peter trusted Charlene completely. He would have gone anywhere with her.’

‘Audrey,’ I snapped. ‘You must stop this.’

She flung herself against the back of her chair, flinching as though I had hit her. ‘But –’

‘I’m serious. For your own sake. Saying this sort of thing without evidence constitutes slander. If you repeat it in public, you might end up in court.’ I watched her lips tremble and tried to soften my tone. ‘I don’t know Kevin, but Charlene seems the last person to become involved with a business like this.’

‘Slander? I suppose you’re right.’ She had her face under control once more. ‘I should have thought of that. It’s so infuriating, the difference between knowledge and proof. But those louts must have been involved. Lord Peter’s collar was in the bus shelter. You can’t get away from that.’

I looked at my watch, more openly this time. ‘Dear me.’ I pantomimed mild shock. ‘Time’s getting on. Now, what did you want to discuss about the fete?’

Audrey swallowed and for a moment I thought she would take the change of subject as a reproof. Instead she smiled. ‘Dear Rosemary. A wise head on young shoulders. I would never have thought of it. It’s the car parking.’

‘I thought we’d sorted that out.’

‘Rosemary reminded me that last year we had a number of people who parked on the double yellow lines round the green. Do you remember? The police were rather annoyed. Nowadays, every Tom, Dick and Harry has his own car. None of them walks anywhere at all, as far as I can see. Rosemary wondered whether the Cliffords would let us use the verge of their drive as an overflow car park once the paddock’s filled up. I know we asked the Bramleys one year, and they said no, because they felt it would upset their residents. (They always said that when they didn’t want to do something.) But the Cliffords are quite a different kettle of fish. Rosemary said she was quite friendly with them so she would ask them. I said, how splendid, naturally – I didn’t want to hurt her pride. But I did wonder if the request might come better from you.’

I put down my empty glass very carefully on the table. ‘I’ll see if I can have a word with them.’

‘That would be marvellous. And do you think you could also manage to see how many cars might fit? I know it can only be an estimate, but it would be a help. I’ve already added “Car Parking” to next week’s advertisement in the paper.’

I promised I would see what I could do. Audrey had always been inclined to fuss about the details of the fete, but this year she was fussing even more than usual.

I stood up, determined to leave. She took me downstairs, chattering brightly about James Vintner’s barbecue (‘I hope it won’t encourage the wrong sort of people’) and the enormous quantity of home-made cakes which had been promised for the cake stall. As we reached the hall, the kitchen door opened and Charlene came out with a handbag draped over her arm. She had taken off her overall.

‘Are you off home?’ Audrey asked. ‘Already?’

‘It’s after half past six,’ said Charlene. ‘Everything’s cleared. The tea towels are soaking in the sink.’

‘I see,’ Audrey said darkly, and paused as if searching for some flaw or omission in this. ‘Good. Well, see you tomorrow. Are you and your young man going out tonight?’

Charlene shot her a wary glance. ‘Maybe.’

‘Well, be careful,’ Audrey said enigmatically. ‘That’s all I ask.’

I stood aside to let Charlene go first.

Audrey brought her head close to my ear. I could smell sweat on her body and sherry on her breath. ‘Such a coarse girl,’ she hissed. ‘And quite untrainable. My poor mother would be turning in her grave.’

‘Thank you so much for the sherry,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know about the car parking as soon as I can.’

We said goodbye. Audrey waved from the doorway as I walked through the little front garden and up the steps to the wrought-iron gate. Only when I was on the pavement did the door close at last.

Charlene was standing outside Malik’s Minimarket, apparently studying the window display. As the door closed, she looked at me.

‘Mr Byfield? Could you spare a minute?’

I smiled at her. ‘Of course.’ I wondered if I would ever get home that evening. ‘What is it?’

‘Would you – would you mind coming over here?’ She beckoned me towards where she was standing. When we were both in front of the shop window, she went on, ‘It’s only that Miss Oliphant will see us standing outside her gate, and she’ll wonder what we’re talking about.’

‘Would that be awkward?’

‘She’d badger me tomorrow until I’d told her what it was about.’

We stood side by side, staring at an array of cereal packets. Neither of us said anything, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. She snapped open her bag, took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No.’ I shook my head when she offered me the packet.

‘She doesn’t let me smoke on the premises.’ Charlene grinned up at me, suddenly wicked. ‘It’s not ladylike. Nor’s smoking in public.’