by J F Straker
‘Maybe you’ve got something there,’ Alan conceded. ‘Who else knows about her visit, Elizabeth?’
‘The Greens, I suppose.’ She was surprised that Alan, who had been, as it were, the leader of the opposition, should so suddenly have been won over. It threw her momentarily off balance, so that she answered mechanically while pondering on the reason for his volte-face. True, murder was no longer the hook on which the joke was to be hung; but did that make so much difference? Perhaps. She did not know. ‘They are moving in for that week; Aunt Charlotte doesn’t like leaving me alone in the house.’ (Only Aunt Charlotte hadn’t put it as pleasantly as that. ‘I don’t trust you, my dear,’ Aunt Charlotte had said. ‘I’ve a suspicion you won’t give me a thought once my back is turned; you’re getting too fond of the men. So I’m having the Greens move in to keep an eye on you. I’ll not have the place turned into a bawdy house during my absence.’) She turned to Michael. ‘I don’t know why you should pretend to be so surprised at the news. I told you last week that she was going away.’
He scowled. ‘Did you? I don’t remember.’
‘Is Green the gardener?’ asked Alan.
‘Yes. And Mrs Green comes in twice a week to help with the housework. But, Alan, I don’t think we ought —’
‘Now don’t start being difficult, Elizabeth,’ Desmond said. ‘Nobody is going to hurt Aunt Charlotte. She will probably never even know that she was reported missing. Who’s to tell her? Not the folks who were fooled. Besides, she doesn’t mix with the village — you know that. And, anyway, what does it matter if she does get to hear of it? It would probably appeal to her sense of humour. If she has one, that is.’
‘Oh, yes, she has one,’ Michael said. `But it doesn’t function the same as other people’s. She —’ He paused, his dark eyes considering them. ‘Couldn’t we include murder as one of the possibilities?’ he pleaded. ‘One among many?’
Elizabeth shivered. It was only a joke he was planning — but would he have been so insistent if the proposed victim had been other than Aunt Charlotte? Did his dislike of her embellish the plan with a vicarious and macabre excitement? Like sticking pins into an image?
‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘You cannot. I won’t have it.’
She looked to Alan for support, and he nodded. But he no longer displayed annoyance at Michael’s insistence. ‘When is she off, Elizabeth?’ he asked.
‘Thursday,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I heard her telephoning for a taxi this afternoon. She’s catching the six forty-five that evening from Tanbury.’
‘Did she order the taxi from Herring?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. More likely from a garage in Tanbury or Wendingham. She doesn’t like Herring; she says he’s rude and discourteous.’
That was so much like the pot calling the kettle back that they laughed. All except Bruce. Since Aunt Charlotte’s name had been mentioned Bruce had not spoken, had appeared to take no interest in their planning. He sat hunched forward in his chair, staring fixedly at the tankard cupped in his two hands.
‘Fine,’ Alan said. ‘It will be dark at six forty-five, and if she’s using a foreign taxi no one in the village will know that she’s gone. You’re right, Michael — this is an opportunity not to be missed. Though murder is out, of course,’ he added, catching the girl’s eye.
‘There’s the Greens,’ Michael reminded him, delighted at this unexpected ally. ‘When are they moving in, Elizabeth?’
They were all on Michael’s side now, she thought; Alan and Desmond openly, Bruce tacitly. Yet they were normal, kindly young men; was she stupid and unnecessarily sensitive to oppose them? They meant no harm, least of all to Aunt Charlotte. No one would suffer. Those who had been taken in by the hoax might feel rather foolish, but that wouldn’t harm them.
‘That morning,’ she said. At least she would go a little way with them. If the idea got out of hand she could always put the brake on later. ‘But they’ll be out for most of the day. Young Willie Green broke his leg last week, and they’re going to visit him in hospital that afternoon. Aunt Charlotte said it would be all right. They won’t be back until nine or ten, because afterwards they’re going on to their married daughter.’
‘For the first time in my life,’ Desmond said, ‘I am beginning to think well of Aunt Charlotte. You’d think she was on our side, wouldn’t you, the way she’s got it all taped? It seems almost a shame to take advantage of the old so-and-so. However, this is no time for sentiment. What is to be the modus operandi, Alan? Any ideas?’
It was strange, thought Elizabeth, that they should look to Alan for leadership. She had thought it would be Desmond — or Michael, since he had originated the plan. Alan had been so familiar a figure in the days when she was a schoolgirl that she had come to take him for granted. She had not seen so much of him lately, but she still thought of him in a minor key. The others, apparently, did not, and she looked at him now with a new respect. Yet he did not look any different. He stood by the fireplace gazing at a photograph of Desmond’s grandfather, the late Earl of Hemmingway, his blue eyes thoughtful, his stocky figure looking almost squat beside the tall grace of Michael and Desmond. His small moustache was neatly clipped, his curly hair was practically white in its blondness. Remembering the many times she had twined those curls round her fingers in the past — and the occasional tugs of exasperation — Elizabeth smiled to herself.
‘The first thing would be to establish the fact that she’s missing,’ he said. ‘We could do that by means of a telegram purporting to come from this friend of hers (fancy Aunt Charlotte having a friend!) to say she hasn’t arrived. That would set the ball rolling. If the postmistress doesn’t talk the Greens will; Mrs Green is reputed to be one of the biggest nosy parkers in the village. You could leave the telegram lying around, Elizabeth; somewhere where she’s bound to see it.’ He frowned. ‘To give it the authentic touch I suppose it ought to be sent off from London, or wherever it is Aunt Charlotte’s staying.’
‘Purley,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Fine.’ Desmond rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘I’ll be the sender-offer. I could do with a night out in Town.’
Michael stared at him. ‘I thought you said you were broke.’
‘Well, you know how it is.’ Desmond shrugged. ‘One can usually raise the little extra when one must.’
‘And what do I do when the telegram arrives?’ asked the girl. ‘Nothing?’
Michael frowned. It was just like Elizabeth to throw spanners right at the start. But he could not answer her question, and that annoyed him further.
The others were equally at a loss. To ignore the telegram would reflect discreditably on Elizabeth; Mrs Green would see to that, for Aunt Charlotte’s unpopularity had inevitably caused the village to regard her niece with some distrust. Yet to take the action she might be supposed to take — to follow up the telegram with suitable inquiries — would quickly establish the fact that it was bogus.
‘We’ll sort that one out later,’ Alan said eventually. ‘But there’s something else that concerns you, Elizabeth. It would be better if you were out of the house when Aunt Charlotte leaves, so that you can truthfully plead ignorance about her departure if questioned. Could you manage that?’
She shook her head.
‘No. She’d expect me to be there to see her off, and there’d be an almighty row if I didn’t.’
‘You ought to be used to rows by now,’ Michael said, with some impatience. This solicitude for Elizabeth was bogging them down. ‘What’s the next item? Blood? Some good hefty dollops of red paint would be a nice touch. Or why not the real thing? There must be buckets of the stuff swilling around your father’s shop, Bruce.’ For the first time he and the other men realised that Bruce had so far added nothing to the discussion, and they looked at him, heedless of the girl’s horrified gasp. Bruce flushed under their gaze, but said nothing.
‘That okay by you, Bruce?’
‘Yes, if you want it. But I thought murder was out.’<
br />
It was hesitantly said. For a brief moment Michael continued to stare at him. ‘You don’t seem mad keen,’ he said slowly. ‘Still with us?’
It was Elizabeth who answered.
‘I don’t know about Bruce, but I do know that I most certainly am not with you. Send a telegram if you must — I can’t see much harm in that — but when it comes to blood . . .’ She shivered. ‘What’s more, it’s quite obvious that you’re harking back to your original plan. Once and for all, Michael, murder is out. You may think it amusing, but I don’t; I think it’s horrible. And no blood; it’s my home, not yours, and I prefer it bloodless.’ She paused, staring at them in turn. ‘And there’s another aspect of it that you don’t seem to have considered: any hint that Aunt Charlotte may have been murdered, and it’s I who will be suspected, not you. And though normally I don’t give a hoot for village opinion, I refuse to be branded as a murderess. It may be your idea of fun, but it isn’t mine.’
Michael broke into loud protests, ridiculing her argument. But Alan cut him short.
‘You never learn, do you, Michael? Why can’t you leave well alone? Elizabeth’s absolutely right. She’s on the spot, and she’s Aunt Charlotte’s heir. Add to that the way the old girl treats her, and she makes a cut-and-dried suspect for the village to pounce on.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Don’t worry, Elizabeth. We’ll see you’re not involved.’
Elizabeth looked at him askance. It sounded fine — but could she trust him? Was he speaking with his tongue in his cheek?
‘What damned rubbish!’ Michael jumped up and began to pace the room with short, nervous steps strangely at variance with his height. He kicked petulantly at a cushion that had slipped to the floor. ‘You and I, Alan, will be just as suspect as Elizabeth. And what about my father? And yours? Every one knows what they think of Aunt Charlotte. Why, practically everybody in Milford must have come up against her at one time or another. The place is lousy with suspects. So why should they pick on Elizabeth?’
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief at the direction of his anger. Alan had spoken of her as Aunt Charlotte’s heir, and it always embarrassed her when that happened in front of Michael. It was not her fault that her aunt had cut him and his father out of her will, but she could not entirely subdue a feeling of guilt.
‘I can’t claim to stand as high on the list of suspects as the rest of you,’ Desmond said, ‘but I do feel that my old man at least deserves an honourable mention. He and Aunt Charlotte have been at loggerheads over that strip of land at the back ever since we came here. I can’t have you leaving him out.’
And Bruce? thought Elizabeth, wondering why he kept quiet. Bruce probably hates Aunt Charlotte more than any of them. But then the others wouldn’t know about that. Perhaps that accounted for his silence.
Alan gave a slight bow. ‘I beg your father’s pardon, Desmond,’ he said gravely. ‘I assure you that no discourtesy was intended in his omission. But the fact remains that none of us will be at The Elms when Aunt Charlotte leaves. And that seems to put the baby right into Elizabeth’s lap.’ And, as Michael once more started to protest, he added, ‘We can send the telegram, however. As Elizabeth says, there wouldn’t be any harm in that.’
‘But what use is the telegram unless we follow it up?’ Michael demanded. ‘Where does it get us? Leave out the blood, if Elizabeth feels squeamish, but let’s have something a bit more ominous than just a ruddy telegram.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Well, we might arrange for an anonymous letter to arrive the next morning. If we worded it so that it appeared to link up with the telegram it would help to create the right atmosphere. Or we could leave something belonging to the old girl down by the river. Anything to give the impression that all was not well with her.’
Alan looked doubtful; but Elizabeth, having won her point, was inclined to relent. She felt kindly towards them — perhaps because they were young and good-looking, or because she had drunk more that evening than was usual with her — and wanted to add to the comradeship to which they had admitted her. It had also suddenly occurred to her that she had been making considerable fuss about nothing. If they went too far, if the situation got out of hand, the remedy lay with her. She had only to contact Aunt Charlotte, and the bubble would burst.
‘I don’t mind that,’ she said, smiling at Michael. She was always outwardly sweeter to him than her feelings warranted, because of the money; and it was Michael who had been the most upset by her previous objections. ‘But couldn’t you lay conflicting clues, so that they don’t point to any particular solution? Apart from making it easier for me, that would really puzzle the village. They wouldn’t know what to believe.’
Desmond gazed at her in admiration.
‘How very right,’ he said. ‘Murder here, suicide there, abduction somewhere else. Also flight, elopement, loss of memory, accident, and robbery — with or without violence. The more the merrier.’
The girl laughed. ‘Not murder, please. Remember? You’re as bad as Michael. And I don’t think I like suicide or violence. But you can take your pick of the rest.’
‘Elopement for me,’ Alan said. ‘It’s so unlikely. A love note dropped on the floor of her bedroom, say, for Mrs Green to see.’
‘Robbery,’ Michael said thoughtfully. This had possibilities. ‘We might make it look as though some one had tried to force the safe in that little room she uses as a study. It’s a tinpot affair; anyone could open it, I imagine, given a screwdriver and a little patience.’
Elizabeth grimaced. ‘I know. I’m always terrified its limitations may become too well known, and that one night we’ll have burglars. And it’s usually bulging with money.’
‘Really?’ said Alan. ‘How much money?’
‘I couldn’t say. But she likes to have plenty on the premises. Uncle Edward kept a tight hold on the purse strings while he was alive, and now she’s making up for lost opportunities.’ She turned to Bruce. ‘You’ll see her at the bank early next week. She’s going on a shopping spree while she’s away, and she always pays cash.’
‘That sounds promising,’ Desmond said. ‘Find out what she draws, Bruce, and let us know. We might be able to make use of it.’
This time there was no hesitation. ‘I shall do nothing of the sort,’ Bruce said stiffly. ‘It would be most improper.’
‘What’s a little impropriety among friends? However, have it your own way.’ Desmond turned to the girl. ‘I suppose she’ll take it all with her?’
‘Most of it. But not all. She likes to leave a hundred or so in the safe against emergencies.’
But who would use it, she wondered, while her aunt was away? Would she be given the necessary cash to run the house, or would it be entrusted to Mrs Green? Aunt Charlotte had been generous in buying things for her, but she had never entrusted her with money to spend the way she wanted to spend it.
‘Full or empty, I don’t really see how we can make the safe look as though it has been tampered with,’ Alan said. ‘Mrs Green would be the only witness to it, and she isn’t likely to notice a few finger-prints or scratches. What kind of safe is it? It’s so long —’ He had intended to say, ‘since I was in the house.’ But that might have embarrassed Elizabeth, and he cut short the sentence, his cheeks tinged with red.
Elizabeth noticed the flush, and guessed the reason for it. I’ve inherited guilt towards Alan too, she thought ruefully.
‘It’s a wall safe,’ she said quickly. ‘Shielded from the public gaze by a large portrait of Aunt Charlotte.’
‘Take the portrait down, then,’ Michael suggested. ‘That would attract Mrs Green’s attention. A few scratches round the edges would do the rest.’
‘Who? Me?’
‘Yes. Why not?’
Why not, indeed? It would give her the greatest pleasure to remove that photograph and put it somewhere where she need never look at it again. She could tell Mrs Green that the wire had broken or the hook had come away from the wall. But that would defe
at their object — or, if Mrs Green did not believe her, brand her as a would be thief.
When she put this to the others Desmond and Alan agreed with her, Bruce gave a half-hearted nod of assent, and Michael interpreted it as yet another attempt to foil them. But he was howled down when he said so.
‘I’m all for not taking Elizabeth into our confidence unless we have to,’ Alan said. ‘Then she can be completely surprised at everything that happens. That will make it look more convincing — and it will be easier for her, too. As for rigging the safe, one of us can see to that after Aunt Charlotte has gone. If I were to call round that evening with a billet doux for Aunt Charlotte, Elizabeth, you could go upstairs and drop it conspicuously in her room while I get busy in the study. Okay?’
‘I suppose so. But if you are going to keep me in the dark for goodness’ sake don’t do anything that might upset Aunt Charlotte on her return. I have to live with her; you don’t. And now I’m going home. It’s after ten.’
She looked at Bruce, who nodded and gulped down the rest of his beer.
‘I’ll take you in the car,’ Desmond said.
‘No, thanks. I’m walking back with Bruce.’
‘What, in this rain? Don’t be childish, Elizabeth. Bruce can come with us, and we’ll drop him off on the way.’
It was warm and snug in the room. The uncurtained panes were misted, and she had not thought of the rain. She looked questioningly at Bruce, reluctant to break her promise to him, but hopeful that he would agree with Desmond. But Bruce was not in an agreeable mood; he shrugged his shoulders and turned away, his back as eloquent of ill-humour as any words.
While she hesitated Desmond took her arm and led her to wards the door. Oh, well, thought Elizabeth, acquiescing; if Bruce is annoyed it’s not my fault. He can’t really expect me to walk when I can ride. Not on a wet evening.
Dulcie Rivers was in the lounge when they passed through. Dulcie was blonde and cute and curvaceous, and Elizabeth suspected that she was the magnet for many of the men who frequented the Tower Hotel — her own escort of four not excluded. She saw the gleam in Michael’s eyes as he caught sight of the girl, and remembered Bruce’s long absence from the room that evening, and his guilty look when Desmond had chaffed him about Dulcie. And the other two? Alan, she decided, would be a tough nut for any girl to crack, and Desmond wasn’t the type to fall without a struggle. But Dulcie lived in, and that made Desmond an easier target for her wiles.
