Dandy Gilver and an Unsuitable Day for a Murder (31 page)

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Authors: Catriona McPherson

BOOK: Dandy Gilver and an Unsuitable Day for a Murder
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‘Doctor sent me,’ she said. ‘Mrs Aitken is very distressed, trying to ask for someone, and Mrs Aitken wants Mrs Aitken,’ she stumbled a little now, ‘to come and calm her.’
‘Poor Mary,’ said Bella. She rose and followed the nurse.
‘Sit down, Dandy,’ said Alec and I was thankful to take the empty chair.
‘Poor Mary indeed,’ I said.
‘And what measure of guilt do you think you and I must bear for this?’
‘Oh, don’t you start!’ I said. ‘I won’t have this hysterical clamouring for responsibility.’
‘But we encouraged Abigail to tell Mirren’s secret to Mary. And we hinted to Mary that there was a secret to tell and sent her haring off to hear it.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Alec, you know I thought I was very clever and I worked out what the secret was?’ Alec nodded. ‘Well, can you believe that kind of news would have caused a collapse like Mary’s? And can you understand why the news would have caused her to strike Abigail? Strike her hard too. Her cheek is still flaming.’
‘It does seem a little odd,’ Alec said.
‘But we can hardly ask Abigail now, can we? I hope Mary can talk once she’s feeling better. We might have more luck with her.’
‘This case is changing you,’ Alec said, staring at me. ‘I thought as much this morning when you were talking to Jack. You sound as tough as buffalo hide.’
‘I don’t like all these secrets,’ I said. ‘Everyone playing games with everyone else, no one telling the whole plain truth. I have no patience with it. Do you realise, Alec, that silly little Lady Lawson is the only individual we have met in this case who wasn’t trying to hide something from us? And that was only after she
was
trying to hide and gave up because she was failing. If you ask me, despite all the talk of “our poor Mirren” and “our darling girl” half the time they’ve all forgotten what started the trouble. I should like to go around with a great big photograph of her pretty face and shove it at them when they start their games again.’
Alec had let me get all of this off my chest, bless him (perhaps he even delivered the opening insult to get me started), but now, hearing footsteps again, he shushed me, pressing downwards with a flattened hand. It was the little nurse again.
‘News?’ he asked her.
‘She’s trying to make herself understood,’ the nurse answered. ‘She’s not talking and she’s a bit woozy from some medicine she’s had, but she kept doing this.’ The nurse put her hand out as if to measure a short distance from the floor. ‘We thought she wanted to see a child – thought her mind had gone, because of course we know about poor Miss Aitken dying like that last week – and Mrs Aitken was saying who do you mean, Mother, and Sister said she might mean you, dear, if she’s wandered, she might be asking for her own little girl and not know you all grown up as you are. And that started young Mrs Aitken crying like anything and then the patient shook her head and went like this.’ The nurse put her hand down again but this time she moved it with a stroking motion. ‘And the other Mrs Aitken was saying, a dog, Mary? A cat? What do you mean? And the patient got all excited and nodding her head and then young Mrs Aitken said maybe she means Mrs Gilver – because of the dog – and the patient said yes, yes – nodding – and so Doctor has sent me to fetch you.’
‘Well, for heaven’s sake, after all that, let’s hurry,’ I said and set off.
The nurse sped up, overtook me and led us through a bewildering maze of corridors at top speed.
‘Where
is
Bunty, by the way?’ I asked Alec, as we followed her.
‘No idea,’ Alec said. ‘I left her in that bedroom. I expect the servants will take care of her.’
At last we stopped at one of the sets of enormous wood and glass doors which we had been rushing past and the nurse opened one side and ushered us through. ‘Quietly now,’ she said. ‘Last cubicle on the end there. On the left. Doctor’s in there.’
We moved as silently as we could along the broad corridor, past drawn curtains on either side. In here the bleach, disinfectant and soap were joined by the other hospital smell, the worst of all, illness and exhaustion and the unmistakable trace of death, nearby and waiting. At the end, I cleared my throat and drew the curtain open a little way.
Mary was lying propped up on a high, narrow bed looking almost as white as the snowy pillowcase behind her head. Her hair was undone into a plait and it lay along one shoulder. Her face, which had looked melted in Mirren’s bedroom, had set in some intangible kind of way, but it had set with that downwards drag to it and even now Abigail dabbed at her mouth with a swab of cotton. Bella, still swallowing, was just clasping her bag shut again. Dr Spencer stood at the end of the bed, writing on a piece of paper clipped to a stiff board. He turned, unsmiling, towards us.
‘She wanted to see you,’ he said. ‘Very agitated, but once she knew you were coming, she slipped off to sleep and I don’t want you to waken her.’
‘That’s fine,’ I said, and turned to Bella. ‘Why don’t you take Abigail home? Take her home to Jack, and Mr Osborne and I will sit with Mary.’
Alec raised his eyebrows but did not demur, and he and I settled ourselves into the Aitken women’s vacated chairs.
‘You could have a long wait on your hands,’ said the doctor over his spectacle tops. ‘Well, mind and call a nurse in when she does waken.’ He gave us an appraising look, appeared to decide that we would do as interim hand-holders and strode off in his rather grand and busy way.
‘I wish Bella had left her flask,’ I said after a while.
Alec gave a short laugh. ‘I could get you one of your own for your birthday,’ he said.
‘Heavens, no!’ I said. ‘There’s hearty, if you like. Still, good to see Bella more like herself.’ I glanced at Mary. ‘The Aitken family is going to need at least one stout pillar.’
Alec too looked at Mary and gently shushed me.
‘Do you think she can hear us?’ I said. We both watched her for a while in silence and I noted with a pang the sharp protrusion of her breastbone under the thin cotton gown, with what a jerk it seemed to rise as though each breath was being fought for. I had seen my mother breathe in just that way over the last night while we all sat around her, her breaths slowing and slowing, growing so far apart and so ragged that we took to holding ours until another of hers was got in and let out again, until the last breath that was not let out at all. We waited on and on and then eventually we still living had to exhale, and inhale again and carry on. I had still not heard that last breath leave my mother’s body by the time we all kissed her head and left her there and as I wandered numbly through the house to find my sister and tell her the news – for, of course, Mavis had not been up to sitting quietly by a deathbed but had stumbled off to weep noisily on her own somewhere – I was still listening.
‘I keep thinking about my parents,’ I said to Alec. ‘And Edward and Mavis. I don’t know why.’
Alec opened his eyes very wide. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I even dreamt about my brother last night. I haven’t dreamt about him for years.’ He paused. ‘At least this was one of the dreams where he’s still alive in it.’
‘As opposed to what?’ I said.
‘Don’t ask,’ said Alec. ‘I expect it’s just the thought of Jack’s brothers bringing back thoughts of mine.’
‘I don’t know what it is with me,’ I answered. ‘Nothing about the Aitkens chimes with my early years.’
‘It’s probably just that they’re such a tight little band. Family business, marrying their own relations, all still living together. Do they even
have
friends?’
‘Lady Lawson and the Provost?’ I said, laughing a little. ‘And remember the days of gay abandon when Mary was away? Tennis parties and all sorts of debauchery until she came back and put her foot down.’
‘It makes me think of Whatsisname in the book coming home from the Indies and stopping the theatricals,’ Alec said. I thought for a moment.
‘Sir Thomas Bertram?’ I said. ‘
Mansfield Park
?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Alec. ‘My mother read it to me when I had measles and had to keep my eyes covered with a black scarf from the headaches.’
‘Poor you!’ I said. ‘Not
Robinson Crusoe
? Not
Gulliver’s Travels
?’
‘It was Mother’s only offer,’ Alec said, ‘and better than nothing.’
We had almost forgotten the figure on the bed between us; certainly, when she moved her head and made a little groan, we both started violently. I sat forward. Her eyes were shifting under her eyelids and she moved her head again, squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and then opened them. She blinked, staring straight ahead, and then her body jerked and she looked wildly from one side to the other until she saw me. The hand lying on top of the covers at the side nearest me did not move, could not move I imagine, but Mary twisted herself on the bed, paddling with her legs, then reached over and gripped me hard with her other hand, looking searchingly into my eyes.
‘Yes, I’m here,’ I said. ‘Mrs Aitken, dear, please lie back and try to be calm. I’m here to help you but please lie back on your pillows again.’
The effort had exhausted her and she did as she was bidden. I stood and straightened the pillow behind her, lifting her long grey pigtail out of the way again.
‘Shall I go for the nurse?’ Alec asked me.
Mary made a low moaning sound and shook her head. With her good hand, she touched her mouth and felt her face, then she lifted her other lifeless hand by the wrist and stared at it as she let it drop back down onto the sheet again. She made the moaning sound again and a tear rolled out of her eye. I dabbed it with a piece of cotton from the little enamel tray on the bedside table and then dabbed at her mouth. She gave me a look so piercingly piteous that I felt my eyes start to fill too.
‘Wait a bit, Alec,’ I said, and Mary nodded.
She opened her mouth and made a series of inarticulate sounds and then shook her head again.
‘Is it about Abigail?’ I asked. She nodded and pointed with hard jabbing motions towards the opening in the curtains.
‘You want us to go and get Abigail?’ Alec said. Mary shook her head furiously and made a kind of fierce growling sound.
‘Please!’ I said, taking hold of her arm and bringing it back down to rest at her side. ‘Gently does it, Mrs Aitken. Mr Osborne and I have all the time in the world for you. There’s no need to be anxious about anything at all. Now. Abigail? Yes. Mirren?’ A nod, but thankfully a milder one. ‘She told you something about Mirren, didn’t she?’ Another nod, but her mouth opened in a soundless sob. ‘Did she tell you why Mirren killed herself?’ Nod. ‘Do you want us to know?’ A furious shake, but she caught it and turned it gentle before we could remonstrate with her again. ‘Do you want us to do something?’ Yes, yes, yes. Three definite nods and a searching look into my eyes. She pointed again at the curtains.
‘Nurse?’ Alec said. Mary and I ignored him.
‘Go somewhere?’ I asked. ‘Right. The attics? No, all right. Don’t worry. Just let me guess again. Is it to find something? To speak to someone? Ah! Right, then. You want us to speak to someone.’ Mary held out her good hand for mine and when I gave it to her, she turned it up and traced a pattern on my palm. It was very ticklish but I managed not to squirm and when she did it for the second time, I recognised the three strokes as a letter H. ‘Hepburn?’ I said. ‘Which one?’ Mary shook her head and shrugged. ‘All of them then,’ I said, nodding along with her. ‘But what about, Mrs Aitken?’ Mary took a long time thinking before she responded and when she did, it was to make the shape one makes for shadow-puppet geese, fingers and thumb opening and snapping together again.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know. I’m to talk to them.’
Mary shook her head and frowned, putting her finger to her temple and tapping, shrugging the shoulder on that side.
‘Ah!’ I said. ‘What do they know?’
Yes, yes, yes, from Mary.
Then she hauled herself up as much as she could in the bed, digging her one good hand down under her and pushing away from the heap of pillows. When she was upright, she pinched her fingers together as though to sprinkle salt, put them to one side of her mouth and drew them across hard, dragging at her lips and glaring at me, willing the message into me with every ounce of energy remaining.
‘Understood,’ I said. ‘Rest now.’
But Mary was not quite done. She prodded herself in her chest and then drew her pinched fingers across her mouth again.
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I’ll make sure they know.’
As she dropped back, utterly spent, the curtain suddenly rattled open on its rings and a dapper little man entered the cubicle.
‘Mrs Aitken,’ he said. ‘What’s to do with you, my dear?’
This evidently was Dr Hill, the family physician, summoned to the bedside and responding in very smart time. Mary only flapped a tired hand at him and turned her head away.
‘Come now, Mrs Aitken,’ he said, bustling up to her bedside and taking hold of her good hand. ‘I’ll have none of that from you.’ He looked quickly between Alec and me and we made our goodbyes – a swift salute on the forehead from me and a wave from him – and hurried away.

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