So Bad a Death (29 page)

I gaped at her. The whole layout had a nasty look about it. She dropped her eyes. “Would you care for some tea? I was just going to make it.”

“Thank you, I would,” I said promptly. Ursula wanted to talk. There was no mistaking the purpose of her invitation.

“What about your little boy? Orange juice? Milk?”

“A biscuit will do, thanks. It will keep him out of mischief. Please don't go to any trouble.” She busied herself with a kettle and found cups and saucers. Presently she said casually: “I suppose you've realized by now where the money comes from.”

“I think I have an idea,” I replied.

She said fiercely: “You can't blame me for what I have done. Who wouldn't have taken the opportunity? You've seen what it is like at home!”

“Pretty grim,” I agreed. I made a sketchy wave with my teaspoon. “But did you have to be quite so drastic? This sort of life will lead you into a packet of trouble.”

Ursula gave me a slightly puzzled look before continuing a tirade at her upbringing and the life she was expected to lead. She broke off suddenly.

“Well! What's going to happen now?” she demanded.

“I'm sure I don't know,'” I replied, taken aback. “It is a trite phrase, but your life is your own to make.”

“You don't know!” she repeated. “Hasn't Inspector Matheson given you an idea what he will do?”

I opened my mouth to speak and then shut it like a trap. My eyes narrowed. The notion that Ursula and I had been at cross-purposes occurred to me. I was only just in time. Another wrong word from me and Ursula would have realized I did not know what she was talking about. I continued to survey her silently.

She set her cup down sharply in her saucer. “Well?” she said. “Speak up. Is he going to send me to prison?”

I sought vainly for a noncommittal answer. One that would lead Ursula on until I had unravelled this confusing conversation.

“Not yet,” I said, in a grave voice.

She gave a short laugh and got down from her perch on the kitchen table. The drawn-up trouser of her crooked leg fell back into its perfect crease.

“Why is he holding fire?” she asked over one shoulder. She took cigarettes from a drawer and lit one expertly. “Now that he knows about the money, why doesn't he go ahead and arrest me?”

“Oh, yes!” I said, with care. “The money. Perhaps he does not consider it as important as you might think. After all, it is essentially your uncle's death that he is investigating.”

Ursula turned round and tried to speak lightly. “You mean he'll leave my embezzling games for that awful oaf Billings to deal with? I'm not sure I don't feel insulted.”

“Why do you call it embezzling?” I asked brightly. “Isn't there a softer term you can use?”

Her mouth drew down at the corners. “I suppose I could say I was claiming my just rights. After all, the allowance Uncle made was quite inadequate. What I got out of cooking his books was never missed. At least,” she added bitterly, “until your husband came snooping around.”

I passed over the rudeness to John. I was getting a grip on the situation at last and did not wish to become sidetracked. So it had been Ursula who had been juggling the household accounts. In order to lead this double life, to have an escape from the life of pretence in Middleburn, she had helped herself to the petty cash.

I felt I owed her an apology. “You are too ready to believe the worst of people,” I told myself severely. Embezzler was a sweeter name than the one I had been calling her for the past ten minutes.

If it was Ursula who had been stealing the money, it must have been Ursula who had crept into our house that night. I attacked from a tactical position.

“You know,” I remarked, helping myself to one of her cigarettes, “you gave me a hell of a fright that night.”

“Did I? I can't say I'm sorry. You shouldn't have been about at that hour. I thought I was safe until I broke that glass. After the row it made, I gave up my search for the ledger.”

It was my turn to be puzzled. “Why did you want the ledger?” I asked her. “You had already removed the evidence.”

A sudden change passed over Ursula's face. I had made a wrong move. We stared at one another in silence, each trying to outwit the other.

Ursula did not know about the pages torn from the ledger until I had foolishly let it fall. Someone else must have done it.

Ursula's eyes had dropped away from mine. She was planning a way out of the situation she had precipitated. I do not think she was interested in who was responsible for her protection. It was enough that John had no evidence against her.

I got up to go. I had done enough damage. It was too late to change the state of affairs. Retreat was the only move left. Ursula
was running the water over the tea things, her back towards me.

“I'd better get home,” I said awkwardly. “Will you still bring those tools out for me?”

A sniff and a nod answered me. I frowned. I remembered someone at the Middleburn Community Centre saying what a splendid actress Ursula was.

“Here!” I said feebly. “Don't do that. Everything will be all right.”

She swung round, a handkerchief to her eyes. “Oh, Mrs Matheson,” she burst out. “Do you really think so? I can't tell you what that means to me to hear you say so.”

This sounded like the Ursula I knew. I frowned all the deeper.

“Please don't tell your husband,” she begged. “I was just being silly today. Forget all about the affair, won't you? Promise me you will. I can't bear to bring disgrace on my parents.”

“Well, he doesn't know anyone broke in the other night,” I admitted unwisely. The scene was assuming such proportions that Tony became affected. His lip fell.

Ursula grabbed my hand. “You didn't tell him? Just to protect me? Oh! How can I ever thank you.”

“I didn't tell him for my own reasons,” I said. “To be quite frank I wasn't sure whether it was you or not. As for telling my husband that you are to blame for the unusual mistakes in the Hall account book, he'll probably find out for himself sooner or later. He has a nasty habit of getting to the bottom of things, big or little. And that I want you to interpret as a warning. The best bet is to be quite candid with the police.”

II

I left her, wondering why I was good at giving such advice when I did not use it myself. Had I known then that my presence was no longer a safety to the murderer but a menace, it might have been different.

Unfortunately I did not take the killer's first warning to heart. I should have retired from the lists then. After the second warning
something happened which involved Tony, and naturally I was in the game until the bitter end.

I worked without John's knowledge because I considered that my unconventional approach to the case might help bring things to a head more quickly, which indeed it did. Even the abortive attempt to remove me from this earthly sphere helped.

I owe to Connie Bellamy the privilege of being able to explain to those who are interested my particular part and reactions to the crime and other mysteries which took place in Middleburn. But I am afraid Connie is unconscious of her great deed even to this day.

On the evening of the day I went to the flat, Connie and I arranged to see a show together. Middleburn does not boast a theatre, but several are accessible by bus routes. One of these theatres is very popular with Middleburn inhabitants. So much so that the bus is always very crowded, carrying about five times the number its licence allows.

There were many familiar faces amongst our fellow picturegoers. I must have seen them in the village at some time. One or two I recognized and we exchanged nods. Ames and his wife were having a night out together. Also another member of the Hall household, Nurse Stone. Maud Cruikshank stepped on at the bus stop just outside the shop. She stared through me after favouring Connie with a wide ingratiating smile.

As the bus started off again a man came running towards it and made a flying leap for the step. It was Nugent Parsons. He chatted to the driver all the way over to Ashton. He glanced at me several times when he thought I was not looking. Once our eyes met and we both glanced away.

“Do you know that fellow?” Connie whispered.

“Only slightly. Do you?”

“Not to speak to. He is considered the village Lothario. I have heard a few stories about him. Nice looking, don't you think?”

It was quite a good show. I enjoyed what John scornfully terms “ersatz emotion” because it freed my mind from real and less pleasant matters. The only flaw in the evening's enjoyment was the fact that a corner of the screen was obscured by the head of the person
in front. Not much, but just enough to keep me conscious that I was not deep in the heart of Texas, as the title insinuated. It was also enough to puzzle me why the head looked familiar.

At interval time the head turned around and the mild eyes of Doctor Trefont surveyed us.

“Why! Good evening, doctor,” Connie said. “Are you enjoying the programme? I didn't know it was you in front there.”

“Had I known it was you, Mrs Bellamy, I would have requested before that you refrain from tapping your foot out of time to the music. I am reserving the sharper rebuke planned.”

“She will under one condition,” I retorted, “and that is you will move your head about three inches to the left. You are spoiling my vision.”

“After that exchange of fault-finding, and with the promise that we will do as we would be done by, permit me to buy you both some refreshment.” Dr Trefont called to a boy with a tray.

Connie said: “I think ice-cream will be best for me, don't you, doctor?”

I wriggled, but the doctor answered her gravely. His gentle gaze met mine for a minute as the lights faded.

“This way,” Connie urged, when we emerged from the theatre. “The bus won't be there yet, but we'll get a good position before the rest of the crowd.”

The Middleburn bus stand was obscurely placed amongst the many others that circulated from Ashton. To make matters more difficult a misty drizzle had commenced.

We placed ourselves on the edge of the pavement. Very soon a large crowd was banked up behind us and we were forced almost to the gutter. With the press of humanity and the seeping rain, I found it an uncomfortable end to a night's enjoyment. I longed for bed.

Two women arrived and forced themselves into a position beside us. I threw them a hostile look, which did not have any effect as it was very dark. One started complaining in an endless whining tone about the lateness of the bus. I felt like screaming with exasperation. I turned to her and pointed out the illuminated clock on a nearby shop.

“Look!” I said acidly. “It is only five minutes past the hour. The bus is not due until eleven-ten.”

Whereat she said “Oh!” in a disbelieving voice and turned her whining remarks to the weather. It certainly seemed more than five minutes before a pair of yellow eyes came through the gently falling rain. I had changed weight from one foot to the other and was yawning in boredom and weariness.

I was so tired and relieved to see the bus that even now I cannot quite work out how it happened. At the sight of the oncoming bus the enormous crowd, which seemed quite out of proportion to the size of the conveyance, surged forward like cattle. Chivalry and lady-like behaviour gave place to animal instincts. In that restless moment as the bus drew near, Connie was flung forward violently from her perch on the extreme edge of the pavement. I made a grab for her coat, but she slipped heavily onto the road.

It was a mad, horrible moment. I felt paralysed both bodily and mentally. I heard a short sharp scream from behind me in the crowd. The twin yellow eyes swerved quickly. The bus ran up on the opposite pavement and stopped with a jolt. There was a moment of complete immobility and quietness. Then the crowd pressed forward towards Connie, who was lying on the road.

I pushed my way towards her and said in a clear voice: “I was with that woman. Let me nearer, please.”

They fell aside at once. I knelt down on the wet road. Connie's eyes were wide open but she did not move. When she saw me she began to weep with hysterical abandon. There was no blood anywhere, although a large bruise was spreading on one cheekbone. I ran my hands along her arms and was about to do the same to her legs when a familiar voice spoke through the crowd.

“Can I be of assistance? I am a doctor.”

I jumped up at once. “It is Mrs Bellamy, Doctor Trefont. I think she is all right, but she has had a bad shaking.”

“How did this happen?” he asked, on the road beside me.

I shook my head. “She must have slipped. The crowd was pressing forward just as the bus came. It was a wonder it didn't run her down.”

Connie heard me through her hysterical sobbing. She said in a high-pitched voice: “Someone pushed me. I felt someone's hands on my back. I was pushed.”

Doctor Trefont got up. “A case of shock, that's all,” he said in an expressionless tone. “No bones broken. I'll take you both home, Mrs Matheson. Wait here until I bring my car round.”