Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (13 page)

Tolly jumped up onto the table beside me and sat looking smug. When I stroked his head he nipped my hand, not out of malice, you understand, but merely to indicate my place in the hierarchy.

Hilda came back with the tea tray, which she put down beside Tolly. He inspected the milk jug but, deciding it wasn’t worth investigating fully, he jumped down and went upstairs.

“I’ll be back on Tuesday,” Hilda said, “just after lunch. My train gets in at two fifteen. I’ve left my telephone number beside the phone. It’s my mobile number, so you will, of course, ring me if there’s any sort of problem at
any
time. Now,” she continued, pouring the tea, “how are the children? As you know, they came to see me a little while ago. Dear Michael and Thea, it was lovely to see them and I was most impressed with Alice, such a nice child. She was very good at playing with Tolly and he quite took to her.”

Fortunately, it rained most of the time I was in London, so Tolly didn’t want to go out and I was spared the agony of not being able to get him in. For myself, I went to several exhibitions and once to a matinee of a new play that had been greatly praised, but which I found dull and overwritten. I wondered idly how Jo would have fared in the theater of today and decided that she’d been wise to get out when she did.

For the sake of telling Hilda that I had, I spent the Monday afternoon in the Senate House Library, looking up some things I felt I might need for an article I’d been putting off writing. I’d just got back and was thinking I might indulge myself by going out to supper at the very trendy bistro nearby, when the phone rang. It was Rosemary.

“Hello,” I said, surprised. “I thought you’d be Hilda. She’s been ringing up at least once a day since she left to check on Tolly’s well-being.”

“No, it’s me.” She sounded very subdued.

“What’s the matter? Is something wrong? Is it the children?”

“No, no, they’re fine,” Rosemary said hastily, “and Tris too. It’s just—just I thought you’d want to know. It’s Jo; she’s dead.”

“Dead? What happened? Was it that horse?”

“Horse?”

“Tarquin, the one who killed Charlie. Did he throw her? I
knew
she should never have taken it on.”

“No, nothing like that. She was electrocuted.”

“
What?
How?”

“She always goes in last thing to switch on the electric fences—they leave them on at night. The switch is in the office. Apparently there was some sort of fault—I don’t know the details—and she was electrocuted. Liz found her when she arrived for work.”

“How awful for her, poor girl,” I said, remembering the brief conversation I’d had with Liz just before I came away.

“Yes, it must have been terrible. But she kept her head and switched everything off at the mains, then tried to revive Jo. She couldn’t, so she called an ambulance, but there was nothing they could do; it was too late.”

“I can’t believe it. First Charlie, now Jo—it’s like some horrible curse on the place.”

“Simon is dreadfully upset. You know how fond he was of Jo, more than Esther really, though I suppose I shouldn’t say so.”

“I know,” I agreed. “So what’s happening?”

“Well, since it was some sort of accidental death I suppose there’ll have to be an inquest. I must ask Roger.”

“Have they closed the stables?”

“Well, they had to yesterday, when it happened, but Liz said that Jo would have wanted her to carry on, so she and Peggy are coping. I’m sure they’re right.”

“It’s what Jo said when Charlie died,” I remembered, “so I’m sure that
is
what she’d want.”

“It’s going to be hard work, running those stables with just the two of them,” Rosemary said, “and it would probably cost more than they can afford to employ somebody. Simon’s going to be up there every evening and at weekends, and, of course, all the young girls, like Delia, love helping out, but it’s not a very satisfactory way to run a business.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll keep it going somehow,” I said. “There’s so much enthusiasm there.”

But after Rosemary had rung off, I began to wonder just how they would manage and tried to think of various ways it could be done. After half an hour of fruitless thought I realized I’d been dwelling on that side of things to avoid thinking about Jo. It seemed inconceivable that she should be gone too, when we’d barely become accustomed to the idea of Charlie’s death. And such a bizarre way to die—as Charlie’s had been.

I didn’t sleep much that night, turning facts and conjectures over and over in my mind. In the morning I felt thoroughly wretched, and my mood wasn’t helped by Tolly who, taking advantage of the rain having stopped, went out straight after breakfast and didn’t reappear until just before Hilda was due back. What with roaming the streets looking for him, going back and forth to the door hoping he might suddenly appear and wondering what on earth I’d say to Hilda if anything had happened to him, I was in a bad state when Tolly finally strolled in. I just had time to give him his fish before I heard the taxi.

After the first enthusiastic greeting (on Hilda’s part; Tolly was distinctly offhand), I made a cup of tea and heard all about the reunion. It had obviously been a great success from Hilda’s point of view since (according to her) all the others were in advanced stages of decrepitude (physical and mental).

“Elinor Bradshaw looked an absolute
wreck
. Her face has just caved in, a mass of wrinkles—quite extraordinary, considering how much time and trouble she used to devote to her appearance. Mavis Foster is hobbling about on two sticks and Bryan Adams’s memory has practically gone. He simply didn’t remember some of the procedures that used to be second nature to us all! Stone-deaf too and wouldn’t wear a hearing aid.”

I looked at Hilda, upright and healthy, in full possession of all her faculties, and thought how irritating she must have been to all her contemporaries gathered there. While she was having her second cup of tea I told her about Jo.

“What an unnecessary way to die,” was her comment. “I remember her in
Twelfth Night
. She was the best Viola I have ever seen.”

“So you see,” I said, “I don’t think I can stay until Friday. I really ought to get back tomorrow.”

“Is there anything useful you can do for anyone at all by going back?” Hilda demanded.

“Well, no, but . . .”

“Then don’t be ridiculous,” she said firmly. “Stay. I have several things planned for us to do in the next few days.”

And, of course, when Hilda is firm, there is no option but to obey.

Chapter Eleven

“I simply can’t believe it,” I said to Rosemary when she brought Tris home. “It’s just too much to take in. First Charlie’s accident, and now Jo’s, both at the stables.”

“I know, and both such unlikely things to happen.”

“What exactly
did
happen to Jo?” I asked. “You said she was just switching on the electric fences?”

“Well, I don’t really know the layout there,” Rosemary said, “but the switch for the fences is in the office along with some other switches. Apparently there’s a lot of separate wiring for them all—a regular tangle, Simon says. He said he did tell Jo, once, that he thought it was dangerous and that the whole place ought to be rewired. Anyway, as far as I can gather, there was a fault in the wiring for the fences and—well—when she switched it on, it killed her.”

“And she must have lain there all night—how horrible.”

“Yes, poor Liz was terribly upset, thinking that if she’d only found Jo earlier she might have been saved.”

“Hilda said it was an unnecessary way to die,” I said, “which I thought was unfeeling of her, but she’s right; it
was
an avoidable accident, which somehow makes it even more tragic.”

“I know. And Simon feels responsible in a way—he thinks he should have insisted on her getting it sorted out. But, really, I suppose she had so much on her mind that she simply put it to one side, as you do. Simon was busy just then—he’s Gordon’s executor—and then there was Esther. . . .”

“Of course, there’s Gordon too. Good heavens—three deaths in one family, and in such a short space of time. It’s like a Greek tragedy! Well, hardly that, but you know what I mean.”

“It is extraordinary, and it all comes onto Simon’s shoulders.”

“How is Esther taking it—Jo’s death, I mean?” I asked.

“She’s upset, of course, but I think she’s still trying to get used to Gordon being dead, so it hasn’t really registered with her yet.”

“I suppose we don’t know yet when the funeral is to be?”

“Well, I suppose there’ll have to be an inquest, so I don’t think it’ll be for a bit.”

“No, I suppose not. Will Vicky come down from London? I wonder. She didn’t for Charlie’s funeral.”

“Oh, she’s here at the moment. She had to come down; something about her signature being needed for some documents. Apparently Gordon set up a complicated trust for Vicky and Simon—a way of avoiding death duties—and, of course, anything to do with money and Vicky’s onto it like a shot. It was just before Jo died and I think Vicky was still hoping to get her to do something for that program of hers.”

“Vicky can be very persistent, but I expect she was disappointed. Jo was really firm about not wanting to do it.”

“Vicky’s so like her father in some ways,” Rosemary said, “self-centered and determined to get her own way,
and
the money thing—not a bit like Simon. I think he takes after Gordon’s cousin Clive—you remember him?”

“Yes, I do, vaguely. He was much older than us, so we didn’t have much to do with him, but I seem to remember he was rather nice.”

“Mother always said that he wanted to marry Jo,” Rosemary said, “and, when she turned him down—she was years younger than he—he went to Australia.”

“To mend his broken heart?”

“Something like that. Not that he did, poor chap—he was drowned in a sailing accident in New South Wales.”

 

I was just attempting to make sense of the notes I’d taken in the Senate House Library, when Michael turned up with some eggs.

“Oh, lovely, now I can have a Spanish omelet for supper,” I said. “Are the hens laying still? They tend to fall off a bit at this time of the year, don’t they? Hang on while I turn off my computer and I’ll come and make you a cup of tea.”

Michael followed me into the study and looked disapprovingly at my electric fire.

“That’s dangerous,” he said.

“What, the fire? It was really quite cold today, but I didn’t want to put all the heating on.”

“No, not the fire itself, but you really oughtn’t to have that trailing lead on it.”

“I wanted it near me to keep my feet warm. My circulation’s really miserable these days.”

“Well, it’s not safe like that,” Michael said firmly.

“I suppose you’re right,” I agreed. “And after poor Jo—well it’s a lesson to us all to be more careful with electrical things.”

“What you really need,” Michael went on, “is a point on the other side of your desk. If you had it there it would be away from the plugs and things for your computer.”

“Yes, well, I’ll have to see to it.”

“As a matter of fact, Steve is doing some wiring for us at the moment.”

“Oh,” I said, “whereabouts?”

“It’s outside lighting to help us see to the chickens when it gets dark early and we hope, if we leave it on, it might discourage the foxes.”

“What a good idea!”

“Anyway,” Michael said, reverting to his theme, “you really must have this seen to. I’ll get Steve to give you a ring to say when he can come.”

I was in the kitchen at Brunswick Lodge unpacking the cakes I’d brought for the Wednesday coffee morning, when Anthea appeared.

“Oh good,” she said, “you’re back. You always seem to be away on holiday these days.”

I considered explaining to Anthea that they hadn’t been holidays exactly, but I refrained, partly because it would take too long, but mostly because I knew she wouldn’t listen anyway.

“I wanted to have a word,” Anthea went on. “I’m rallying all the support I can get.”

“Oh,” I said warily.

“It’s this dreadful business of poor Jo Hamilton. I was really shocked when I heard. But it’s a lesson to us all. So I thought about our electrical wiring here.”

“It’s all right, isn’t it?” I asked. “Surely we had someone in a few months ago to put some more points in.”

“Yes, we did,” Anthea said impatiently, “but that’s not what I mean. This is an old house and I think the whole system needs a thorough overhaul.”

“Well, I suppose it might. . . .”

“It’s not just the helpers,” she said. “We do hold events here, so members of the public are at risk too.”

“I think ‘at risk’ is going a bit far,” I said.

“Health and Safety,” Anthea said impressively. “We might be liable for all sorts of things.”

“But we have insurance, don’t we?”

“Oh, I’m sure that doesn’t count if it’s a government thing. But what’s important,” she repeated, “is to have the whole system overhauled.”

“I’m sure it’s not necessary,” I said feebly, knowing from bitter experience that if Anthea had an idea in her head it was virtually impossible to dislodge it. “Besides,” I added, “it would cost the earth. We simply don’t have the funds.”

She smiled patronizingly. “That’s where my scheme comes in.”

“Oh?”

It’s perfectly simple. We will apply for lottery money.”

“But we’d never get
that
,” I said. “It’s for big projects—stately homes, Victorian piers, that sort of thing.”

“Not a bit of it. I saw on the television the other day some villagers got it for extending their village hall. Now if
they
can get it to put up an extension to a wooden hut, then Brunswick Lodge, a historic house, certainly deserves it.”

“Well, I suppose. . . .”