Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (16 page)

“How horrible.”

“Typical though. He was always tremendously ambitious and it was just coming up to crunch time for the National Theatre. He thought he had a chance there and so, of course, he didn’t want any sort of scandal. Still,” David said with some satisfaction, “I’m glad to say that Larry beat him to it and got the job.”

“Yes, I see. So did she, I wonder?”

“Did she what?”

“Did Jo have an abortion? It wasn’t easy in those days.”

“I don’t know. After
Hamlet
I went to the Birmingham Rep—really very lucky. The Dauphin in
St. Joan
and Konstantin in
The Seagull
—we got some marvelous notices, even in the national press, and I made some really good contacts. So I rather lost touch and, as far as I can remember, the gossip never really amounted to anything in the end.”

“But she still gave up the theater? A year before she married Charlie?”

“Round about a year. So, it did occur to me that perhaps she
did
have the baby.”

“And put it up for adoption? No, that’s not like Jo!”

“Well, as you rightly said, darling, things were very different then.”

“I suppose so. . . .”

“Well, it was all a long time ago,” David said, “so we’ll never know now. But what I
do
want to know is when are you coming to stay? It’s a good time of year. The main
swarms
of Japanese with cameras and French schoolchildren with their horrid backpacks have gone and I’ve got some gorgeous new exhibits to show you. A dear old soul in Warwick left us some absolutely marvelous set designs for the Beerbohm Tree
Dream
and a couple of scripts—real treasures.”

“I’d love to come, David. I’m a bit tied up just now, but the minute I’m free I’ll give you a ring. It’ll be something to look forward to.”

When I put the phone down I sat for a while trying to take in what David had told me. Marjorie’s description of Jo and John Carlyle in the nunnery scene came into my mind. The animosity must have been very strong to have come over like that on stage.

Poor Jo. My heart ached for her. As David said, things were very different in those days. It was a miserable business, whether the illegal operation was done by a backstreet abortionist or in an expensive clinic where money changed hands and no questions were asked. And keeping an illegitimate child wasn’t easy. The social stigma was immense. It must have often seemed easier to bear the pain of having the baby adopted than to face the condemnation of society and, even more, the stigma that would be attached to your child. The Jo I knew was very strong, but even she might have finally decided she couldn’t cope, especially if she intended to carry on with her career—though she never did. It was very puzzling, but, as David said, it was all a long time ago and we’d probably never know now what had happened. Still, there was a nagging feeling at the back of my mind that it was just possible that Jo’s child, now grown up, could exist and might one day have wanted to find his, or her, real mother.

 

The next day Steve came to change my electricity points.

“Well, I’ve put that new one in where you needed it and I’ve moved all the others up to make it easier for you,” he said. “There’s not a lot of making good—a bit of plastic wood and a lick of paint is all it needs. You’d better come and see if they’re what you wanted.”

I made a tour of the points with him, making, as one does, appreciative and admiring comments at each one.

“That’s splendid,” I said when we had finally finished, “just what I wanted; it’ll make life
so
much easier! Now, do come and have a cup of tea. You’ll need one after all that hard work!”

As I poured the tea and cut some slices of fruit cake, Steve said, “Funny thing about that inquest, wasn’t it?”

“Inquest? What inquest?” I asked.

“For poor Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Really—have they held it, then?”

“Last Friday.”

“I’d no idea—I hadn’t heard. I suppose it’ll be in this week’s
Free Press
. What happened?”

“Well,” Steve said, stirring his tea vigorously, “you know what I said about that wiring, and how I told Bob Morris? So, I naturally thought I’d be called to say what I’d found.” He added another spoonful of sugar to his tea and stirred it again. “But not a bit of it!”

“Really?”

“No. Bob goes and gets in the what-you-call-them—the
forensic
people to look at it again and they say it could have been an accident after all.”

“But you said the wire had been cut.”

“And I still say that’s what it looked like to me—and I’ve been twenty years in the trade.” He took a large bite of fruit cake. “It seems,” he said, his sarcastic tone slightly muffled by a mouthful of crumbs, “it
seems
that there was a heavy, metal cash box they used to keep on that bench where the wiring and the switches were, and they said the sharp edge of that could have cut the wire.”

“I suppose it might have done,” I said. “It’s just possible.”

“Possible, perhaps,” Steve said scornfully, “but is it likely? I ask you!”

“Well. . .”

“Any road, that’s what
they
said, so I wasn’t called to say what I thought, and the coroner, Major Barrington, that silly old fool, said it was accidental death.”

“I see.”

“But I saw what I saw, whatever they may say, and you can take it from me, Mrs. M, we haven’t heard the last of it.”

After he’d gone and while I was washing up and putting away the cake tin, my immediate feeling was one of relief. Of course it had been an accident, another tragic accident, just like Charlie’s had been. Of course no one could possibly have wanted to kill Jo. Like everyone said, the whole idea was ridiculous. We could put away the feelings of distress and anxiety all the speculation had aroused and simply mourn the loss of a good friend.

Foss, who’d been banished outside to prevent him from taking part in Steve’s activities, suddenly appeared at the window, demanding to be let in. I opened the door and took down a tin of cat food. Tris, who was fast asleep in his basket, woke up instantly at the sound of a saucer being put down and, with a short, sharp bark, claimed his equal rights. As I shook the dog biscuits into his bowl I felt as if a load had been lifted from my mind.

Later, when I set off to collect Alice, I felt more cheerful about going to the stables than I had ever since Jo’s death. When I got there I was surprised to see Roger, leaning on the fence leading down to the ring.

“Hello,” I said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He smiled. “I’ve been detailed to collect my daughter,” he said. “How about you?”

“I’m collecting Alice—grandmother’s privilege. Actually,” I went on, “for a moment, when I saw you here, I wondered if it was something to do with Jo’s death.”

“No, that’s all done and dusted. The coroner’s verdict was accidental death.”

“So I gather. But I thought you told me that the forensic people thought the wiring might have been tampered with.”

“So they did, but then they discovered that a heavy, metal cash box had often been dumped down on some of the wiring—people really are so careless—and that could easily have caused the cut. After that there was no reason to suspect foul play—especially against someone like Jo!”

“I’m so glad,” I said. “It gave me a horrible feeling to think that anyone might have wanted to harm her. I’m sure Simon and Liz are so relieved. They’ve got enough to worry about, running this place.”

“They certainly have. I wouldn’t like to have to cope with all those teenage girls.”

I smiled. “Is Delia giving you a hard time?”

“Let’s just say that Jilly and I have been thinking quite seriously about boarding school!”

“You don’t mean it.”

“No, I know it’s only what our Mrs. Mac calls a ‘phrase’ she’s going through and she’ll come out the other end our own sweet daughter, but it’s hard to live with. Alex is so much easier.”

“Ah, just you wait until Alex is seventeen. That I
do
know about! Motor bikes,” I said darkly, “and things like that.”

The riders had come back while we were talking and Delia walked over, deep in conversation with Alice. Well, not conversation exactly, more like a monologue, which Alice was listening to with rapt attention.

“So you see,” Delia was saying, “that’s why it’s easiest to slow your pony down with half halts—pull and let loose.”

She graciously informed me that Alice was doing nicely and if she remembered to sit deeper in the saddle, she’d do very well. When she saw her father, however, she said, “Daddy, how
could
you come out in that
terrible
jacket!” and scrambled quickly into the car before anyone could associate her with such a dreadful sartorial mistake.

Roger pulled a face, waved to me and drove away.

Alice was tugging at my sleeve. “Gran, can I just go and help Peggy with the feed buckets? She said I could.”

“Yes, all right, but don’t be long.”

“That’s good. We need all the free labor we can get.” Simon had come up behind me. “Thank heaven for little girls. I’m not sure we could function without them!”

“Well,” I said, smiling, “it does appear to be mutually beneficial. Seriously though, how’s it going?”

He shrugged. “I think we can manage to keep going, if we can get a few more liveries and don’t lose any more clients.”

“Liz said some of them have canceled.”

“Only to be expected, I suppose—two fatal accidents, bound to put people off. But most people have been very loyal.”

“I’m sure they want you to succeed, for Jo’s sake,” I said. “Actually, Simon, I haven’t had a proper chance to tell you how very sorry I am about it all. I know how close you were to her and how badly you must miss her. And I’m so glad all this business with the police has been sorted out. That must have been so painful for you.”

“Yes,” he said, “it was difficult.”

“Do you have a date for the funeral?”

“It’s not quite settled yet. We’ve only just had permission to. . .” He had difficulty in finishing the sentence.

“Yes, of course,” I said quickly. “I’m sure a lot of people will want to come. She was greatly loved.”

“Yes.”

“I think,” I said, “I’d better go and sort out Alice. I’m sure she’d
sleep
here if she could!”

As I went into the stable yard I felt worried about Simon. He looked absolutely exhausted and was obviously in a highly emotional state. Given his burden of the stables as well as his own demanding job, not to mention looking after his mother following his father’s death, I suppose it wasn’t surprising. But I still felt there was something else preying on his mind.

I prized a reluctant Alice away from the delights of the hay nets and got her into the car.

I was driving down the track away from the stables when I had to pull over onto the grass to let a large Mitsubishi four-by-four go by. As the driver raised his hand to thank me, I saw that it was Dan Webster.

Chapter Fourteen

I like to take flowers to Mrs. Dudley when I visit her, but, since she has very definite views on the matter, it’s always difficult to know
which
flowers. Not roses or carnations (unnatural nowadays, no scent), not lilies or chrysanthemums (funeral flowers), certainly not geberas (vulgar). Fortunately, I found some rather nice, properly scented freesias that I hoped might be acceptable.

“Freesias, how very nice,” she said approvingly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Give them to Elsie and tell her to put them in the
tall
cut-glass vase.”

I made my way into the kitchen and handed the flowers over to Elsie, who has been with Mrs. Dudley for as long as I can remember, remains cheerful at all times and is, thank goodness, impervious to her moods and general irascibility.

“How is she,” I asked, “after that nasty cold?”

“A bit pulled down,” Elsie said as she filled the required vase with water and arranged the flowers, “but she’s picking up nicely, and Dr. Macdonald is very pleased with her. Of course, she does miss having her little lunch parties, but it really was getting to be too much for her.”

“She’s still amazing for her age,” I said.

“There.” Elsie handed me the vase. “If you’d take that in, I’ll bring the tea. The kettle’s just on the boil.”

I took the flowers back into the sitting room and, as directed, put them down carefully (“On that little mat please, Sheila.”) on the table by the window.

Mrs. Dudley is the only person I know now who actually has people to tea in the old-fashioned, formal way. I looked with pleasure at the small table laid with a white, lace-edged cloth, the delicate china and the knives and spoons with their mother-of-pearl handles. There were two sorts of tiny sandwiches (cucumber, and egg and cress), scones with clotted cream and jam, and two sorts of cake (an iced sponge and a rich fruit cake). Elsie had surpassed herself. She came in with the large silver teapot and the smaller hot-water jug on a tray. The tea ceremony is, in its way, as traditional as any Japanese one: a little hot water poured into the cup, rinsed round to warm it and poured into the slop basin; the heavy teapot (which I knew from past experience always dribbled just a little) that had to be held at a certain angle away from the cloth so that it wouldn’t drip on it; the milk in last, of course, and the sugar always to be offered and always refused.

Mrs. Dudley watched the proceedings with an attentive eye and gave a tiny nod of approval when I’d accomplished it satisfactorily. She then put me through the customary, brisk inquiry about Michael, Thea and Alice, which I knew was merely skirmishing before she got down to the real business of the meeting, as it were.

“So what’s all this about Josephine Hamilton, then?”

“I expect you heard that the inquest said it was accidental death.”

“And what do you think?”