Time for Silence (34 page)

“I am sure you should tell Marcus. Then you’ll be well rid of Carl. Let him know you don’t care for his blackmail…for that’s what it is, isn’t it? Marcus will send Carl about his business.”

“It’s not easy, but I have to do it. Who would have thought all this could have come out of…that…?”

“Poor Annabelinda! But you are doing the right thing at last. Marcus must understand.”

“Do you think so?”

“He must,” I said firmly. “Come and see Edward.”

“I don’t feel up to it.”

“It will do you good. Andrée always likes to see you. She thinks you are so attractive and lead such an interesting life.”

“Well, I suppose I could.”

“Of course you could.”

I took her up to the nursery. Edward was sitting on the floor coloring pictures. Andrée was sewing.

Edward looked up and said, “Hello,” while Andrée laid aside her sewing and said, “Good morning, Mrs. Merrivale.”

“Good morning,” replied Annabelinda and sat down.

“You are better today, Mrs. Merrivale?” asked Andrée.

“Yes, thanks. Much.”

“I’m so glad.”

“You haven’t brought your funny hat,” commented Edward without looking up from his painting.

“You don’t appreciate this one?” asked Annabelinda.

I could see that Edward was mouthing the word
appreciate
. A new one for him. He would use it soon afterward in the way he always did. If he decided he liked it, it would figure in his conversations for the next days to come.

The newspaper was lying on the table. Annabelinda glanced at it. “They are still going on about that explosion,” she said.

“What a mercy there was no one there,” commented Andrée.

“I wonder who did it,” I said. “It seemed pointless. Like that place…you remember…Milton Priory.”

“Wasn’t that something to do with the gas?” asked Andrée.

“They did say something about that at the time,” I replied.

“I’m glad no one was hurt,” put in Annabelinda. “I’m very glad about that.”

She’s changed, I thought. She sounds as though she really cares. A little while ago she wouldn’t have given the matter a thought.

“By the way,” said Andrée, “did you ever see that house you were interested in?”

“Oh…I was forgetting. That was really what I came about.”

“Is this the one in Beconsdale Square?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. It sounds exciting.”

“I forgot to tell you. I took a look at it.”

“Really?”

“Only from the outside. At least, I suppose it was the one. It was the only one, as a matter of fact, that seemed to be empty in the square.”

“So you actually went there?”

“I came upon Beconsdale Road by chance and thought the square must be close by, so I did a little investigation. I went along the drive and looked in the windows. If it is the one I saw, it is going to suit you.”

“Well, I am going to see it tomorrow. I want you to come with me, Lucinda.”

“I’d love to see more of it.”

“You know exactly where it is. Could you meet me there at two-thirty? The agent will be there to let us in.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “I must say I found it most intriguing.”

The next day I set out for Beconsdale Square. It was about two-fifteen, which I thought would give me just enough time to reach the house by two-thirty. I guessed Annabelinda would be on time, although normally she was inclined to be late. But this was something she would be enthusiastic about, even though she had Carl Zimmerman on her mind.

I arrived about a minute or so before two-thirty. There was no sign of the agent who was to meet us there.

I went up the drive and stood at the door. It was very silent. I was surprised that Annabelinda had not arrived. I strolled back to the gate and as I did so a man appeared. He was in striped trousers and black coat, and as he carried a briefcase, I guessed that he was the house agent.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I am a few moments late…the traffic. Shall we go in, Mrs. Merrivale?”

“I am not Mrs. Merrivale,” I replied. “I’m a friend of hers. She wanted me to see the house with her.”

“Oh, of course. May I have the pleasure…?”

“Miss Greenham,” I said, and we shook hands.

“My name is Partington; John Partington of Partington and Pike. Well, I am rather relieved that Mrs. Merrivale is a little late. I hate to keep ladies waiting.”

“Yes, I’m surprised she’s late. She is so eager to see the house. As you say, the traffic can be a problem.”

“I am sure she will be attracted by this house,” he went on. “There is really something very special about it.”

“Yes, it looks interesting. There is quite a sizable garden, by London standards.”

“It really is the country house in town, and that’s the truth.”

“I’m very much looking forward to seeing it.”

He glanced anxiously along the drive. There was no sign of Annabelinda.

“She must be along soon now,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure she will.”

A few more moments passed and still there was no sign of Annabelinda. He was beginning to be uneasy, and so was I. It was twenty minutes to three.

“Why don’t we go in?” I said.

He was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “Yes, why not? If something has prevented her coming, you can tell her what you think. But I have no doubt that she will be here soon.”

He took a last look around, opened the door and stood aside for me to enter.

I stepped into the hall. It was spacious and there was the grand staircase that I was sure would please Annabelinda.

I walked across the hall, the sound of my footsteps echoing on the wood floor.

“It is lovely!” I said.

“A very desirable property.”

“Where do these doors lead?”

“Well, one would be to the kitchen, I imagine, and the other to one of the reception rooms.”

I opened that door. I was unprepared for what met my eyes. Annabelinda was lying on the floor, very still, and there was something about her which filled me with an increasing horror.

I stood for a few stunned seconds staring at her. I heard myself gasp, “Mr. Partington…”

“What is it, Miss Greenham?”

He came and stood by my side.

“My God,” he said. “She’s been strangled.”

I had knelt beside her. “Annabelinda,” I said. I kept saying her name over and over again.

She lay there inert. There was a look of surprised terror on her face, which was white and lifeless.

“Annabelinda,” I sobbed. “What was it? What happened?”

I heard Mr. Partington say, “We’ve got to get help….”

I could not rise. I just knelt there, looking at her.

I
T WAS LIKE A
bewildering dream. There were people…doctor…police…and others.

What had happened, they wanted to know. Why were we there?

“I was to meet her here,” I told them. “It was half past two. We thought she was late. We went into the house. We thought she would come….”

Someone took me home. My father came soon after. They must have sent for him.

I was lying on my bed and he was sitting beside me. The doctor had given me a sedative. He said I needed it.

So I lay there with my hazy thoughts, and I could think of nothing but Annabelinda…lying dead in that empty house.

Later there were questions. Two men had come to see me. My father explained. “They are from the police. You see, you were the who one found her…you and the house agent. The general opinion seems to be that it was some madman. Someone sheltering in the house perhaps, who did not want to be disturbed.”

“But other people must have looked at it. And how did she get in? The house agent had the key.”

“We don’t know yet,” said my father. “However, you’ll have to talk to the police. I don’t suppose they will be here long.”

“We are sorry to disturb you, Miss Greenham,” said one of them. “Just a few questions. Mrs. Merrivale was a great friend of yours, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. Our families have been close all our lives.”

“And you were going to look over the house with her?”

“Yes.”

“She did not arrive at the appointed time of two-thirty.”

“That is so. I cannot understand how she got into the house. The agent was to have let us in with the key.”

“He it was who took you in.”

“Yes. We thought we might as well go in. We left the door open so that when she came she would see we were there.”

“Do you know any reason why she should have arrived before the appointed time?”

“No. And I still can’t imagine how she got into the house.”

“She was let in by someone. Possibly the murderer.”

“You mean…the murderer was in the house?”

“It may have been a trap. As a matter of fact, there was a broken window which had not been noticed before. It could have been that someone was in the house waiting for her…someone who let her in and posed as the house agent. Did Mrs. Merrivale not say anything to you about the appointment’s having been changed to an earlier time?”

“No. If she had, I should have been there earlier.”

“Naturally. Well, I don’t think there is anything further at the moment, Miss Greenham.”

I was glad when they went.

My father came into the room. He was very disturbed.

“It is so mysterious,” he said. “Poor girl! What a dreadful end…and she so young.”

“She was happy. She thought she was going to have a baby.”

“How tragic!”

“And Marcus?”

“He’s having a bad time. He’s had a grueling by the police. Heaven knows what this will do to his career.”

“Do you mean they suspect him?”

“In cases like this, the husband is always the first suspect.”

“But they were so happy together.”

“That won’t stop suspicion. Oh, Lucinda, I wish you were not involved in this!”

I felt sick and bemused.

My father said that the doctor’s opinion was that, as I had had a terrible shock, I should rest for a while in my room.

How could I rest? I could only think of Annabelinda entering that house…that strange, eerie, empty house, as it had become in my imagination, and meeting her assassin.

I wished I had been with her. How was I to know that she was going to be early? Why had she? Why had she told me to meet her there at two-thirty? What had made her go early? She must have had some message. And why? Because someone was lying in wait for her…to kill her.

The answer to that question was not long delayed. Mrs. Kelloway, Annabelinda’s housekeeper, was able to supply vital information.

Someone had called at the house during the day Annabelinda had met her death. He had seemed in a great hurry and said he came from Messrs. Partington & Pike about the house in Beconsdale Square. He had waited at the door and asked if Mrs. Kelloway would take a message to Mrs. Merrivale.

Mrs. Kelloway had invited him in, an offer which he declined.

“Excuse me,” he had said very politely. “But I am pressed for time.” He spoke in a funny way, she said. “Not quite natural. It might have been from another part of the country,” but it was not familiar to her. He had insisted on waiting at the door until she took the message, which was could Mrs. Merrivale be at the house half an hour earlier, at two o’clock. He had a quick call to make and he was going straight there. He had got a little hung up with his appointments and he was afraid he would not be able to spend as much time with Mrs. Merrivale as he would have liked to if she could not meet him at the earlier time. He just wanted to know if she could oblige.

“Mrs. Merrivale was at the top of the stairs when I called to her, and I told her what he had said. She said she’d be there. He said he was grateful, then he hurried off before she could get down the stairs. Mrs. Merrivale said there wasn’t time to let Miss Greenham know, but it would be all right. She would already be there when Miss Greenham arrived.”

Mrs. Kelloway had assumed great importance. She was proving of inestimable value to the police. She was the only one who had seen the man who had most likely murdered Annabelinda.

The house agents quickly confirmed that Mr. Partington was the man in charge of that particular house, that he was the only one from the firm who had arranged to meet Mrs. Merrivale and that the appointment was for two-thirty.

When pressed for a description of the man, Mrs. Kelloway again proved her worth. She could not say what age he was. He had a beard that covered over half of his face. He seemed young in a way, but the beard gave him a middle-aged look. But there was one important clue. He was holding some papers in his hand and as he was talking to her he dropped them.

She stooped to pick them up and so did he, and as he did so, she saw the fingers on his hand very clearly. There was something odd about them…something different. One of his fingers looked what she called “a bit funny.” It seemed as though part of one of them was missing.

How grateful they were to Mrs. Kelloway! She had become a celebrity overnight.

Soon the press was interviewing her. We had headlines: “Who Is the Mystery Man in the Case of the Empty House Murder?” “Police Seeking Man with Maimed Hand.”

“If Mrs. Kelloway was right about the deformed hand, it should make the search for the murderer easier,” said my father. “But why…why lure her there…to be killed? For what reason? Can you think of any, Lucinda? You knew her well.”

I wondered. I felt I could not uncover her devious past. I seemed to sense her beside me, begging me not to.

Suppose the story of her misdemeanor was brought to light now? What good could it do? Poor Marcus…and his proud family! They were suffering enough already.

What good would it do to tell?

Those were strange days. It was as though a pall hung over us. Aunt Belinda and Uncle Robert came to London. They were very subdued and sad; I had never seen Aunt Belinda like that before. Sir Robert looked bewildered. He loved his children dearly. I wished Robert would come home.

Sir Robert had aged in a few weeks, but it was Aunt Belinda who surprised me. My mother was very gentle with her and they spent a great deal of time together.

Annabelinda was never out of my thoughts. She had lived dangerously, of course, and these were dangerous times. But who could have wanted to lure her to an empty house to kill her?