Chapter Fifteen

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(1)

“Anne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about Mrs. Farrington’s death. If I had I’d never have come worrying you now.”

Veronica Coniston stood on the hearthstoned doorstep of Windermere House and looked at Anne Strange in some embarrassment. “So I’ll just run away now and ring you up sometime later if I may,” concluded Ronnie.

“No, don’t do that,” said Anne. “Come upstairs and talk to me. I’m sorry if I stared at you as though you were a stranger, but life’s been a bit wearing. I’m terribly pleased to see you, so come along in. How’s the infant, and how’s Tom?”

“The infant’s bursting with health, and Tom’s trying to teach me to play chess,” said Veronica as they crossed the hall and went upstairs. The house was utterly quiet, and it felt cold, as though the central heating were off, but Veronica was mainly concerned about Anne. “She looks deadly,” thought Veronica. “What on earth can be the matter?”

“I’ve always wanted to play chess, but I can’t think several moves ahead,” said Anne, her voice elaborately casual. “Here we are, Ronnie. Don’t my daffs look lovely?”

It was nearly half an hour later that Veronica said: “I see,” as she had said once before. Anne, after avoiding the subject for some time, had at length told her friend about Mrs. Farrington’s sudden death and about the doctor’s refusal to sign a death certificate. Veronica, helplessly at sea, had murmured her meaningless little phrase because she didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry you’re so worried, Anne,” she went on, and then Anne had put her face in her hands and cried.

“Sorry, Ronnie, but I feel better for the weep all the same,” said Anne at last. “You might as well hear the rest. I don’t suppose I ought to have asked you to come in, but I didn’t think of that. We shall be in all the papers tomorrow, and the reporters may get on to you. She was murdered.”

Veronica became conscious of a mounting sense of horror as Anne, her voice no more than a murmur, told of the nightmare which held them all in its grip. “We’re all in it. Ronnie, every single one of us,” said Anne. “We’re suspects, we could, any of us, have done it, and I don’t see how they can ever prove who did. We all had something to gain by her death.”

Veronica shivered; then she pulled herself together and summoned her courage and common sense to her aid.

“Listen to me, Anne. I can see that it’s horrible, and if I were living here I expect it would have got me down, as it’s got you, but remember I come in from outside. I’m not numbed by the horror of it all, and I can look at it squarely. No one is going to believe that a woman like you committed murder because your mother-in-law exasperated you. It’s silly. You’re not living in a vacuum. You’ve got a past, and a character which was known---and proved. I knew you, remember. So did your commanding officers in the W.R.A.F. No one’s going to believe a thing like that about you, or about Tony, either.”

“I don’t know, Ronnie,” replied Anne. “Are you sure you don’t mind me talking about it? Somebody may get on to you next and ask you questions about me.”

“Let ’em,” replied Veronica. “I’ll tell them what I know about you, and if they ask me what you said, they’ll be told to go straight to hell, the faster the better. So get on with it, and for heaven’s sake let’s look at it straight.”

Anne looked into the fire, her face set and weary. “Sometimes, when I’ve read detective novels, I’ve thought how idiotic it was to make sensible, well-balanced people tie themselves up into knots and say dotty things they didn’t mean,” she said. “I always imagined I could keep my head and answer with some semblance of dignity and self-control, only saying what I meant to say and avoiding throwing mean suspicions on other people. Well, I started off like that. Then things began to go haywire. The twins went off the deep end and lost their heads. Then I told Tony that I’d heard Madge come downstairs on the Monday night, and Tony went to the Chief Inspector and said Madge was mental and she had killed Mrs. Farrington. So the Chief Inspector came to me and told me to repeat what I’d told Tony about Madge. I said that I’d heard the twins come downstairs on Monday night and Madge went down too. Paula was listening at the door, and she went hysterical and burst in and raved at me because I said I’d seen Peter come downstairs, ending up by saying she’d seen me go into Mrs. Farrington’s room in the middle of the night.”

“Well, no experienced police officer’s going to take any notice of accusations from a hysterical girl,” said Veronica stoutly.

“No, but it all adds up,” said Anne helplessly. “Hasn’t everybody got something in their lives they don’t much want to talk about, Ronnie? It seems to me as though we’re all being stripped naked. Everybody’s private affairs have become the subject of police inquiry: Peter’s idiotic backing of a bill he didn’t even understand, Joyce and Philip’s debts and private rows. Eddie’s evenings at his club, poor old darling, and my picking up an old friendship with Nigel Fairboys.”

“I thought you’d washed out Nigel ages ago, Anne.”

“I did, but when I got terse with Tony, when he wouldn’t take any interest in getting a home of our own, I just happened across Nigel again, and I thought it might make Tony sit up and take notice, because he’s always been hellishly jealous. What I didn’t realise was that Mrs. Farrington had seen me and Nigel together and she had started a smear campaign about us with Tony. Instead of having it out with me, he just seethed inside. And now I suppose that Scotland Yard’s looking into all that and working out that both Tony and I were---well, hating the old lady with a deadly hatred because she was trying to make our marriage come unstuck.”

Veronica sat in silence, appalled at the implications of all that Anne had been saying. “Do they know about Nigel---the C.I.D.?” she asked.

“I expect so,” replied Anne drearily. “I made a bad break with the Chief Inspector last night. We’d had a frightful scene, with Madge walking in her sleep and Tony following her downstairs. Oh, it was hideous, Ronnie. The two C.I.D. men were both in the house and saw and heard everything with the lid off. I thought I could make things better by talking to the Chief Inspector afterwards.”

“What’s he like?” asked Veronica.

Anne hesitated. “If I weren’t so frightened of him I should just say he’s a terribly nice person. He’s got a very quiet voice---an unusually pleasant voice, with the least bit of Scottish accent in it---and he listens to all you tell him, and is honestly very kind and sympathetic. He’s been a dear to Eddie. But I’m frightened of him. He doesn’t miss a thing, and he knows I wasn’t really straight to start with. I tried to pretend everything was all right here.”

“Well, anybody would have,” said Veronica comfortingly. “No one could be expected to say, ‘We all loathed one another and she was a horrible woman, anyway.’ ”

“Oh, I know. I think he sees all that, but when I tried to get things sorted out a bit last night, and told him a little about what Mrs. F. was like. I let out that she’d been saying things to Tony about me. He didn’t say anything or ask any questions, but I realised afterwards he’d spotted it at once. He’s like that. He just gets his evidence from the mistakes we make and adds it all up.”

“What’s his name, Anne?”

“Macdonald.”

“But he’s frightfully well known, isn’t he? I heard someone talking about him once when we were discussing police systems in different countries, and Macdonald was quoted as an example of scrupulous fairness and impartiality.”

“I dare say he is impartial, and fair, too, but there’s something relentless about his very impartiality. Anyway, I’ve got to the point when I should be almost relieved if they arrested me, and I could just sit in a cell and go into a coma and not think any more about anything. I’m tired of it all. Ever since Tuesday morning, when the doctor came, I’ve just been feeling more and more frightful over the whole thing.”

“Oh, Anne, pull yourself together and show a little spunk,” cried Veronica indignantly. “You know you didn’t do it. I know you didn’t do it, without even asking you, so don’t talk nonsense.”

Anne heaved a very large sigh. “If you only knew what a comfort it is to hear your sensible ordinary voice, Ronnie. None of us in this house is capable of being our normal selves any longer. That damned old woman. It makes me so mad. She tried to spoil all our lives---she drove Madge to the border of insanity, she ruined the twins, she made Tony believe I was a dirty trollop, she drove Eddie to spending his time in a low-down pub, she made Joyce wish she were dead. While she was alive she was a hundred per cent curse and now she’s dead she’s added compound interest.”

“That’s better, Anne,” said Veronica. “Get mad over it. It’s much healthier to get in a tearing rage than to sit and gloom over cells and comas. And do remember, although it’s frightful now, there’s always tomorrow.”

“I do try to remember that. I’ll make Tony sell this bloody house, Ronnie, or else give it away. She’s left it to him. She would. Oh, lord, I’d gladly go and live in a hovel, anything, anywhere, away from all this. God, who’s that?”

(2)

It was Colonel Farrington who had knocked. He stood at the door with a little anxious, deprecating smile.

“Can I come in, my dear? Oh---I beg your pardon, I didn’t realise you weren’t alone.”

“Come in, Eddie. It’s Ronnie. You met her before, didn’t you? Come along in and shut the door. I’ve been telling her all our woes, and she’s been such a dear and done me so much good.”

“Then I’m very grateful to her,” said Colonel Farrington. Having shut the door carefully and pulled the curtain across it, he came and shook hands with Veronica.

“The sight of you would do anyone good, my dear,” he said. “You look so wholesome and healthy and happy. I’m afraid we have got into a sadly morbid state here. It’s all been very wearing, and I’m afraid we haven’t shown up so well as we should in the face of tribulation, though Anne has been very good, very straight and sensible. I never realised before how important it was to be absolutely straight in an inquiry of this kind. Let thy Yea be yea, and thy Nay, nay.”

“You make me ashamed of myself, Eddie,” said Anne. “You’re the only one of us who has had the courage to live up to your own convictions.”

“Madge has come out of it best,” said the Colonel quietly. “She has just told the truth, and it was hardest for her. I’ve realised that all along.” He turned to Veronica. “You see, Madge, as a nurse, was bound to bear the brunt at first. It was so easy to say she could have done it. She had the requisite skill and knowledge. But I think the worst of it’s over.” He turned back to Anne. “I dare not say too much, my dear, but I think we can see daylight. I’ve had a long talk with the Chief Inspector. He’s a very fine man, and I respect him wholeheartedly. He hasn’t let a detail escape him. It seems they have found some strange fingerprints in Muriel’s room---prints which could not have been made by anybody in this house.”

“You mean somebody from outside, not in this house at all?” burst out Anne.

“Yes, my dear,” said Colonel Farrington. “They went into it in meticulous detail. You know that Muriel’s room is always cleaned on Monday mornings. The younger detective. Reeves, noticed what a thorough cleaner Mrs. Pinks is. He was pretty sure that when she cleaned the room she wiped the window ledges and finger plates and mantelpiece, and so on. If this were the case, it means that those strange fingerprints must have been made on the Monday after Mrs. Pinks cleaned the room. Well, as Muriel went into the room immediately after Mrs. Pinks had finished cleaning, and either she or I were there for almost the rest of the day, it can only be assumed that someone got into the room in the evening, probably when I went out for a bit of supper and Muriel was asleep.”

“You mean someone Mrs. Farrington knew?” cried Ronnie.

“No, my dear. I mean a thief. You see, some of Muriel’s most valuable diamonds are missing. This will show you how conscientious these C.I.D. men are. Reeves told Mrs. Pinks to clean Muriel’s room exactly as she had cleaned it that Monday. He himself had already swept away the fingerprint powder and so on, so there was no particular indication of anything which needed cleaning. The good old soul did exactly as she was bid. When she came out she said to me: ‘Well, I done it as I always done it, no more, no less. Mrs. Farrington was particular and she’d soon have noticed if I scamped it.’ They found she had wiped all the paint, and polished it as well. So that’s a clear pointer. Someone else had been in the room after Mrs. Pinks had cleaned it. In addition to this, a man was seen loitering, ‘with intent,’ as they call it, outside this house between nine and ten on Monday evening.”

“When I was in the drawing room,” said Anne; “but I swear I didn’t hear anything, Eddie.”

“I know you didn’t, my dear,” said the Colonel; “but you remember there was a telephone call which distracted your attention for some time. They can’t find what number was connected with this one, because the automatic system does not record such details of local calls. They have tried all Muriel’s friends---all the numbers that were in her book---and no Mrs. Jones rang up on Monday evening, at least no Mrs. Jones known to us, neither was it anybody concerned with the Primrose League fête. I can’t tell you the trouble those detectives have taken. No one can have any conception of the detailed work which goes into an inquiry like this one.”

“And have they really told you they’re satisfied it was someone from outside?” asked Anne, and Veronica’s heart ached to hear the passionate desire for a positive reply that was in her voice.

“Of course not, my dear. It’s not to be expected that they should, at this stage. The Chief Inspector is the most punctilious of men,” replied the Colonel, but his voice was quiet and comforting. “Macdonald has told me about the fingerprint evidence, and he has also said that the prints they found are unknown to the police---not in their ‘Rogues Gallery’ collection, as they call it. He told me further that poor Baring’s medical case has been recovered from the Regent’s Canal. It was obviously stolen when his car crashed. Unfortunately, most of its contents had either been removed or fallen out into the water, but it’s just another instance of the thoroughness of the police. There was insulin in that case. I’m very glad of that, because of Mrs. Pinks. She’s been such a loyal old soul, but because she was devoted to Madge and because her husband suffered from diabetes there was a real danger she would be involved. I realised that myself and I was deeply troubled over it. I couldn’t have borne that any loyal servant of ours should come under suspicion because of her very loyalty to her mistress.”

Veronica looked at him with puzzled eyes, and he replied to her unspoken question.

“In honesty, one is bound to admit that there have been difficulties and misunderstandings amongst us,” he said sadly. “Madge and Muriel, in particular, had been at cross-purposes. Unfortunately, Tony added to this confusion---I know Anne will forgive me for saying so. In giving evidence it is of the first importance not to exaggerate. Anyway, a wretched misunderstanding was magnified into a motive for murder. Because Mrs. Pinks loves Madge, it could have been suggested that she---Mrs. Pinks---brooded over the matter and took steps to end it. All quite untrue, of course. Just one of those hideous imaginings which tend to obsess our minds when we are frightened.” The old man sighed and then made an effort to smile at Veronica. “Grown-up people, even old chaps like me, become like children if we give way to fear. We conjure up bogies and frighten ourselves. If we could only face plain facts simply we should save ourselves so much distress.”

“I’m not a courageous person, Eddie,” said Anne. “I’m a plain coward. All the time I’ve been hoping that it could be proved that someone else did it. Not me. Anybody but me.”

Veronica slid an arm round her. “You silly old ass, Anne, everybody is bound to feel like that. It’s only human nature.”

“Human nature is nobler than you admit, my dear,” said Colonel Farrington. “We recognised that during the war. Mrs. Pinks told Macdonald that she would confess to the crime herself rather than have Madge blamed for it. In other words, Mrs. Pinks was prepared to be hanged for a crime she did not commit to save Madge from suspicion. It makes one very humble.”

Anne flushed and then went very white. “Did she really say that, Eddie?”

The Colonel nodded, his face keen and stern. “She did, all honour to her, and all honour to the Chief Inspector that he refused to accept her statement. The poor old soul has got trouble enough. Her husband died yesterday, Anne. After they had taken his body to the mortuary she came back here, because she had guessed that Madge walked in her sleep and thought she might be of service to her---as indeed she was.”

(3)

It was Colonel Farrington who changed the angle of the conversation a little. “There’s always a lot of business to be done over estates,” he said. “My wife---very wisely, I think---named her bankers as her executors, but there are certain fairly simple matters I have been able to arrange. I know Anne will be glad to know that Peter’s financial muddles are to be tidied up. I’m sorry for the boy. He was foolish and culpable, of course, but this may be a lesson to him. He must learn that he cannot oblige his friends in such a lighthearted and irresponsible way. The hospital reports that his condition is quite satisfactory, and he is going on later to a clinic, for a course of treatment, in part psychological.”

Anne put in: “Then it’s really plain sailing, Daddy? The police are satisfied that no one here was responsible?”

“I don’t know about plain sailing, Anne, but I think quite a lot of confusion has been cleared away. I think I can say this. There is no need for you to be frightened any more. Now I must get busy writing some more letters. I have been trying to write to all Muriel’s friends. I hate those printed notices people send. So I will say good-bye for now, my dear,” he added to Ronnie. “I’m sorry you have found us in such an unhappy state, and thank you for your kindness to Anne. A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

Veronica got up and shook hands with him. When he had closed the door behind him she turned back to Anne. Anne was still sitting in the corner of the chesterfield, but her head had slipped forward and her body was limp. Veronica Coniston had a few seconds of terror before she assured herself that Anne had only fainted. Opening the window, searching for brandy and smelling salts, Veronica tried to silence the questions which would come crowding into her mind. There was something very terrible, as well as very pitiable, about Anne Strange’s waxen face and cold, limp hands.