The Norfolk Mystery (The County Guides) (12 page)

‘Note?' he said.

‘Sorry?' I assumed he wanted me to make a note.

‘Any sign of a suicide note?'

‘Not that I can see,' I said.

‘No,' said Morley. ‘There rarely is. Never mind.'

There was the sound of Mrs Snatchfold stirring.

I began to go over to assist her up.

‘Leave her,' said Morley. ‘You're fine, Mrs Snatchfold,' he called across to her, continuing to make notes. ‘You've simply fainted, that's all.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry,' said a tearful Mrs Snatchfold weakly from the floor, ‘it's just …'

‘No need to apologise,' said Morley. ‘Tell me, have you called the police?'

‘Yes. I sent a boy over to the rectory, sir. There's a telephone there.'

‘Good. You did the right thing.'

Mrs Snatchfold lay, staring at the reverend's body. ‘What's that smell?' she said.

‘He's evacuated his bowels, I'm afraid, Mrs Snatchfold. Very common, I believe, in such cases. This stain here …' He moved over towards the table and began pointing to the various stains.

Mrs Snatchfold gave another small cry, and fainted again.

‘Leave her, Sefton,' he said once more as I went to assist. ‘Leica.'

‘What?'

‘The camera, man. You've got it?'

‘Yes.' I brandished the camera.

‘Good. Well. Go on. Some photographs.'

‘Of the church?' I was shocked. This hardly seemed the time to be working on the book.

‘No, not the church, man. Here. This.' He gestured at the body, and the room.

‘Here?'

‘Yes.'

‘Isn't that a bit macabre?'

‘This could be a scene of crime, Sefton.
Corpus delicti
.'

‘I hardly think—'

‘Come in useful, anyway,' said Morley. ‘Before the police arrive and make a mess of things. Come on. Snap, snap. Just for our own records.'

I took a series of photographs while Morley strode around the room, stepping carefully over Mrs Snatchfold's prone form, making copious notes and talking the whole time.

‘Many as you like, Sefton. Come on. Chop, chop. This, please. Photo.' He pointed to a small coat of arms mounted on the wall. ‘
Zelo Zelatus sum pro Domino Dio exercitum
. Translation, Sefton?' I couldn't come up with a convincing reading. ‘Look,' said Morley, pointing beneath the words. ‘Tells us the verse, for those of us without the Latin: 1 Kings 19:14. Any idea?'

‘No.' But then, as Morley turned away to study some of the books on the shelves, and thinking I was doing the right thing, I put down the camera, picked up the Bible that lay on the table at the reverend's feet, and was about to flick through to 1 Kings 19:14 when Morley turned.

‘No!' he said.

I stopped, about to turn the page.

‘Don't move!' said Morley.

‘What?' I said. ‘Why?'

He removed the Bible carefully from my hands, looked at the page where it was open, and made a note in his notebook. ‘Photograph,' he said, waving at the page. ‘Please.'

‘Of the Bible?'

‘Of course.'

‘Why?'

‘What's the passage it's at?'

I looked down at the Bible. ‘Judges chapter 16.'

‘And do we know if that is the lesson for today?'

‘I don't know. Does it matter?'

‘It might, Sefton. Or of course it might not.'

‘Right,' I said.

‘Carry on,' said Morley. ‘Chop, chop. Snap, snap, snap.'

When I had taken sufficient photographs to satisfy Morley's needs – which were many – and Mrs Snatchfold had sufficiently revived, Morley ushered us both back towards the stairs.

‘No point upsetting ourselves further here. Clearly a matter for the police. I'm sure they'll be here soon. Why don't you wait outside, Mrs Snatchfold. You wouldn't want to distress yourself further.' At the top of the stairs he whispered to me, ‘You first, Sefton. In case we need to break a fall.'

We made it safely without incident back through the church. The woman who Mrs Snatchfold had introduced to us as Hannah stood inside the porch, and as we approached I saw her reach into her pocket for a cigarette and light it. She pulled in a deep breath of smoke.

‘Would you mind?' I asked.

‘Of course,' she said, and offered me a cigarette, surveying me carefully as she did so. There was something shockingly direct and frank about her gaze. It was chilling. I could think of nothing to say.

‘So?' she said.

‘He's dead.'

‘Of course,' she said, and gave a little laugh.

M
ORLEY WAS CHECKING
his wristwatch every few minutes, and then his other wristwatch, and then his pocket-watch, and then his wristwatch again, in the hope, presumably, of time speeding up for us so we could move on and get back to our schedule. But time passed in its usual way, Morley notwithstanding, and it was clearly impossible for us to leave until the police arrived, and so we retired to the rectory with a rather shaky Mrs Snatchfold, who kindly offered to provide us with tea and cake while we waited. The sun had pierced the morning's fog, and it began to look as though it might turn into a fine day – though of course this made no difference to Morley. If anything, it made things worse.

‘
Tempori parendum
,' he was intoning to himself, mantra-like. ‘
Tempori parendum
.'

‘Everything OK, Mr Morley, sir?'

‘Fine,' he said. ‘Fine. Absolutely fine.'

He was getting fidgety.

We were served in a melancholy silence by Mrs Snatchfold in the drawing room, but Morley immediately suggested that we take the tea outside and look over the garden: he needed the stimulus, needed to take his mind off things; and he was, of course, a keen horticulturalist, ranking the role of gardener as only slightly lower than his own profession of letters. (He often spoke of his friend E.A. Bowles, in fact, the popular author of gardening books, as though he were Homer himself – ‘The greatest bulbsman of our time!' he would declare – and certainly of the same rank as his other literary hero, E.V. Lucas, whose green-buckram-bound
The Open Road: A Little Book for Wayfarers
accompanied us on all our trips, Morley often reading choice passages aloud.)

Mrs Snatchfold, thoroughly recomposed

‘Ah! Ah! Ah!' said Morley, in a crescendo of delight, forgetting himself in the moment, as he so often did, when we made our way out onto the terrace. ‘A Snake's Head Iris. Snapdragons. Forsythia. Roses. And a magnolia! Look at this, Sefton! Wonderful. Beautifully conceived!' He took a long sniff and breathed out. ‘And the fragrance, Mrs Snatchfold! An assault on the senses, is it not, as we step outside. Like a door opening into paradise.' He sniffed again. ‘What do you think? Hot spiced lemon, mixed with …' – he took another deep breath, and held out his hand and wafted the scent towards him, as though grasping not only the smell but also the colour and the very taste of the garden – ‘mixed with dry earth and plum, and something perhaps vaguely liliaceous …'

‘If you say so,' said Mrs Snatchfold, clearly alarmed at Morley's sudden enthusiasm, setting the tea tray down on a sturdy wooden table, and proceeding to pour a saucer of milk and place it on the ground. ‘I can't say as I'm an expert myself.'

‘Pussy!' cried Morley suddenly.

‘I beg your pardon?' said Mrs Snatchfold.

‘Pussy, pussy, pussy!' he continued.

‘Stop!' said Mrs Snatchfold, a look of grief on her face. ‘Oh no, Mr Morley, please! Stop!'

‘I'm terribly sorry,' said Morley. ‘I was just calling your cat. I saw the—'

‘He's dead,' said Mrs Snatchfold. ‘I forgot for a moment. But he's dead!'

‘Yes, I know,' said Morley. ‘And it is a terrible shock. But I'm sure the police will do everything they can to investigate the reverend's—'

‘Not the reverend,' said Mrs Snatchfold, plainly on the verge of tears. ‘The cat.'

‘Oh dear,' said Morley. ‘That is awful. When was this?'

‘Last month,' sniffed Mrs Snatchfold. ‘He came in from the garden one day and started vomiting, and then he had this little … seizure, and then he went to sleep and … Oh!' She began howling again, and rushed back into the house.

I looked at Morley.

He looked at me.

And then he looked at his watch, again.

‘
Tempus edax rerum
,' he said woefully. ‘Eh, Sefton?
Tempus edax rerum
.'

‘Sorry, gentlemen. More tea?' said Mrs Snatchfold, re-emerging from the house some time later, thoroughly recomposed.

‘Alas and alack, I think not, my dear Mrs Snatchfold. We do appreciate your hospitality, under these most unfortunate circumstances, but I'm not sure we can stay much longer.' He ostentatiously consulted his watches again. ‘We have our book to write, you see, and an appointment with a flint-knapper over in Dereham this afternoon, so—'

‘You'd surely not be leaving me here alone, Mr Morley, until the police arrive?'

‘Well …'

‘It could be hours, and there's no one here except me and—'

There were signs of an upswelling of emotion, which Morley might have been happy to ignore, but which I sought to quell.

‘Of course we won't leave you, Mrs Snatchfold,' I said.

‘Thank you, Mr Sefton, sir.
You
are a gentleman.' She eyed Morley suspiciously, as though my being a gentleman precluded him from being the same. ‘You'll have more tea then?'

‘Well …' said Morley, clearly agitated at the thought of his timetable being further rearranged.

Mrs Snatchfold poured more tea regardless. ‘There you are, Mr Sefton. And you too, Mr Morley.'

Morley sighed and muttered something – something that sounded very much like ‘Stupid woman' – and went reluctantly back to the plants and was soon once again in the grip of a botanical fervour. I, meanwhile, lazily and inexpertly gazed around the garden, which stretched fardistant.

‘He had quite an eye, the reverend?' I said.

‘Quite an eye?' said Mrs Snatchfold.

‘For the garden, I mean?'

‘I'm not sure I can say, sir.' She caught her breath. ‘And actually I'm not at all sure we should be talking like this with him only …' She took a deep sigh, and looked as though she might again be overcome with tears.

‘Now, now,' said Morley, rising up from his place half concealed within a border, sensing danger. ‘I'm sure the good reverend would have wanted us to enjoy the garden he's created, wouldn't he?' He leaned over and took another deep sniff of something. ‘Ah. The enchanting scents of Araby. And these anemones, Mrs Snatchfold. Quite magnificent. I've never seen anything quite like them outside Italy.'

‘Those things?' said Mrs Snatchfold, sniffing, and pouring herself another consoling cup of tea. ‘That's all her doing.'