Nothing Like Blood

by Bruce, Leo

  “You entertain a good deal?”

  Mrs Rose stared at him.

  “You surely must know … must have read …” She seemed genuinely perplexed.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow that sort of thing.” His hostess seemed affronted.

  “I can scarcely believe that anyone could remain unaware … However, we will let that pass. I think I have answered your question. Is there any other assistance I can give you?”

  “You, personally, have no doubt that your sister’s death was due to natural causes?”

  “None. It has been attested by a competent physician.”

  “You don’t think that her heart attack could have been induced in some way?”

  “That is a most unpleasant thought. I shall refuse to harbour it. Who would be so wicked and take such a serious risk when it was known that my sister could not live long in any case?”

  “That’s certainly a point. I gather that no one in the house knew that she had recently changed her will.”

  “You see? Frankly, Mr Deene, I think you are trying to stir up muddy waters. If there had been the slightest doubt at the time, surely there would have been a postmortem and an inquest? I know very little about such things.”

  “There was no doubt at the time. It is the result of what has happened since.”

  “You cannot be suggesting that the case may be re-opened in some way?”

  “I’m not in the confidence of the police. I shouldn’t think it’s impossible, though.”

  “Then I shall ask my husband to intervene immediately.”

  “I’m afraid that would not help very much. In England, Mrs Rose, there are limits to the powers of even a Takeover Tycoon.”

  She seemed to contemplate this statement then dismiss it as preposterous.

  “Another glass of champagne? “she suggested with her lavish smile. It was gruesomely well rehearsed. Carolus could well believe that she was accustomed to entertaining.

  13

  THE Reverend Ralph Cracknell was as cheerful as he had sounded on the phone. He came to the door of his bright little house, a plump and smiling man of fifty.

  “What a punctual person!” he said. “Punctuality’s

  next to godliness in my opinion. Come along in. This isn’t a vicarage because I’m not a vicar. I’m the curate-in-charge of St Aug’s round the corner, so I suppose this is the curate-in-chargery.”

  “St Aug’s? “Carolus could not help asking.

  “St Augustine’s. Only it sounds so august. Like a cupper?”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s just being made. My crone will bring; it. Squattez, and let’s hear your trouble.”

  Carolus decided to get this over as quickly as he could.

  “Do you know Bishop Grissell?”

  “Know him? Known him for thirty years. We were at St Mick’s together. Beg your pardon. St Michael’s Theological College. What about him?”

  “I’m investigating the deaths of two women in the house in which Bishop Grissell lives.”

  “Whe-whee-ew! “whistled Mr Cracknell. “Not again?”

  “Again?”

  “Oh nothing. So poor old Grissell’s got involved in a murder case?”

  “Why did you say ‘again’, Mr Cracknell?”

  “You know how one says things. Tell me about the murders.”

  “I haven’t said there has been a murder, and certainly not that Bishop Grissell is involved in one. I said he lived in the house.”

  Mr Cracknell turned to Carolus sharply, though still smiling. “Then why come to me, if Grissell’s not involved?”

  “Just that I found myself working in mid-air. I knew nothing about the people in the guest-house in which these things had happened. It was necessary to learn what I could, and your name was given me as that of a friend of Bishop Grissell who might be helpful.”

  “Helpful to you or to him? That’s the question.”

  “One hopes it is the same thing,” said Carolus priggishly. “But it is the truth we want, Mr Crack-nell.”

  “Tell me, how deep is old Grissell in this? Up to the neck, I suppose? He has a gift for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting off on the wrong foot, and then putting it in it, his foot I mean. But seriously, you can leave him off your list of suspects. He may have made his blunders, but he would never hurt a woman. Not a white woman, anyway.”

  Instead of seizing on the last five words, Carolus said: “Tell me a little about him.”

  “Old Grissell? Vigorous chap. Strong as a horse as a young man. Used to do feats of strength at St Mick’s. No one was surprised when he decided on missionary work. It was a bit of a joke at St Mick’s. Cannibals would be in the cooking-pot, we said, while the missionary did the war dance. Ever hear him preach?”

  “No.”

  “It’s worth hearing. That terrific deep voice of his. Like someone out of the Old Testament. And his sister’s a real trouper, too. Those two went off to darkest Africa and we were sorry for anyone who might oppose them. He was out there twenty-four years.”

  “Did you see much of him during that time?”

  “He came home on leave once or twice. Always looked me up. Or rather looked me down, as you might say. I’ve never been ambitious, you see. Not very pop with the high-ups. They find me too frivolous, I fear. So, as old Grissell became more and more important, I paddled along quietly. I believe I am in for promotion now, but I’ve never looked for it. Old Grissell was all for a bishopric and, my word, he got it. Colonial, of course, but still. She was just the same. Knew how to get what she wanted. I hear she has just come into a large sum of money from an old school friend. That sounds typical.”

  “The old school friend was one of the two women whose deaths I am investigating,” said Carolus, and left this to sink in.

  “I say, you’re not suggesting … No, that’s impossible. I don’t mind a laugh at the Grissells’ expense, but really …”

  Carolus said nothing.

  “Of course, he has a temper,” admitted Mr Cracknell.

  “Yes?”

  “Violent, when it’s roused. He threw old Figgley in the duckpond at St Mick’s. Picked him up bodily and threw him right in. Figgley’s Bishop of Hatfield now. He was no weakling himself, but Grissell was in a towering rage. Figgley had called him a gorilla. He did look rather like one as a young man.”

  “Bishop Grissell retired early,” said Carolus.

  “Yes,” said Mr Cracknell thoughtfully. “He did.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “You don’t know?” asked Mr Cracknell rather slyly. “I thought everyone knew that.”

  Carolus shook his head.

  “I don’t want to rake up that old story,” said Cracknell. “It was all very unfortunate and has been long forgotten now. Most unfair, I thought at the time.”

  “Something that happened in Africa?”

  “Oh yes! It couldn’t have happened here, of course. That temper of his. It concerned a house-boy of his. Died in hospital. The doctors proved he couldn’t have lived long, anyway. But it appeared that poor old Grissell had lost his temper with the boy. All most unfortunate. And of course all the relatives and friends made a tremendous fuss. Half the tribe turned up at the inquiry. Grissell’s name was cleared. Completely cleared. But it was felt best that he should find another field for his endeavours and he retired to England. These things happen. Ah, here’s the char. Sugar and milk?”

  “Thanks. What year was this?”

  “About five years ago. You won’t find anything in the newspapers at the time. It was kept out of them. Prestige and so on. Mind you, I’ve always liked Grissell. He’s not the most generous of men, but his heart’s in the right place. Funny, he was never given a nickname at St Mick’s. Perhaps because his own name rather fitted. Figgley was Figgs and I, of course, was Crackers, but no one ever thought of calling him by anything but his correct name. Does that mean something or doesn’t it?”

  “Not nece
ssarily, I think. He could afford to retire?”

  “Oh yes. Private money. Quite well off, I believe. Wish I were. You’ll give him my salaams, won’t you? Say old Crackers wants to be remembered to him.”

  “I don’t think I shall mention that I’ve met you,” said Carolus.

  “Best not, perhaps. I shouldn’t want him to think I’d been taking his name in vain. Or his sister’s. Phiz is a bit of a terror, isn’t she?”

  “She’s certainly very blunt. When did you see the Grissells last?”

  “When they first came home. They popped down here for a week-end. I got him to preach at St Aug’s. Rather hair-raising, really. He seemed to take my parishioners for the heathen. Hell-fire, you know, and retribution. One old lady fainted. The choir thought it no end of a lark, but I expect they think the same of me.”

  When Carolus left Mr Cracknell it was past five o’clock, but he decided to try to finish his roster in order to reach Cat’s Cradle at lunchtime on the following day.

  He had only one more call—Conway Towers Preparatory School, at which the Jerrisons had been employed. This was at Orbiton, a reputedly healthy suburb on the hills, not more than twenty miles away but by a different route crossing the main roads into London. He decided not to phone the school before going there, though he realized that during the summer holidays it might be deserted, even by the proprietor, Mr Colin Topham.

  He found it to be one of those large Victorian mansions built for rich city men in the sixties and seventies of the last century. He asked for the headmaster and was shown into a room which, from his own days as a small boy at a preparatory school, he recognized as ‘the study’. He had not long to look about him, however, for a small man in white flannels and a blazer burst into the room and addressed him irritably.

  “I’m not seeing applicants until tomorrow,” he said. “The agents should have told you that. Have you got a degree?”

  “Yes,” said Carolus mildly.

  “What is it?”

  “Honours History.”

  “University?”

  “Oxford.”

  “College?”

  “Christ Church.”

  “School?”

  “Beaumont.”

  Mr Topham looked aggrieved.

  “I was playing tennis,” he said. “I told the agents not to send anyone before tomorrow.” He strolled to the window. “Is that your car out there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Teach for a hobby, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know whether I want anything like that at Conway Towers. The last man who said it was his hobby made it too much of a hobby altogether. He had to go in the middle of a term. Any athletic distinctions?”

  “I got a half blue for boxing.”

  “War service?”

  “Commandos.”

  “Hm. I don’t think it would do at all. The other men wouldn’t like it. They haven’t got degrees, you see. My senior assistant has no qualifications on paper, but he’s been with me eighteen years. He’d feel slighted, I think. I wanted a younger man. What brought you here, Mr …”

  “Deene. I wanted to see you. To ask one or two questions.”

  “Questions? Oh, I can see it would never do. Never. We are at cross-purposes already. I don’t expect an applicant to ask questions. It’s an excellent post. Three hundred pounds a year with board and residence.”

  It had to end, though Carolus regretted the necessity. “I did not come to apply for a post on your staff,” he said gently.

  “You didn’t? Then what on earth did you come for? I was in the middle of a set of tennis. I understood you were an applicant.” Mr Topham’s face suddenly changed and an ingratiating smile spread over it. “Perhaps you are a prospective parent? I mean, perhaps you thought of entering your son?”

  “No. I wanted to ask you about some people called Jerrison.”

  Mr Topham looked disappointed, flustered but, most of all, baffled.

  “Jerrison? Parents of mine?”

  “No, they …”

  “They weren’t those people who came to see me about young Foley, were they? Said they were his uncle and aunt? I had to phone Foley’s parents, I remember, who said that on no account … No, they gave their name as Jerome. I can’t call to mind any Jerrisons.”

  “They were on your staff,” put in Carolus sharply, but, as he saw too soon, ambiguously.

  “On the staff? I’ve only had married couples twice. Both failures. Either the man has no discipline or the wife quarrels with Matron. Besides, a woman can’t very well Take Games. It doesn’t do. Now let’s think. One of these couples was called Packham, so it can’t be them … they … those. It must be the others. They were here more recently. Only stayed a term. Most unpleasant. The man called my senior assistant an old shellback. And the woman was a virago. Nothing less. She actually set about the Matron in front of some of the boys. I’m sorry to say they cheered. Most unseemly. It was soon round the school. Unluckily Matron suffered a small disfigurement for some days. A black eye, in fact. But you, who know how boys behave, will guess what impertinence this led to. ‘Oh Matron, what a beauty! ‘That sort of thing. Fortunately it did not reach the parents’ ears, as these people were leaving, anyway. It must be these you are inquiring about. I can tell you at once—don’t employ them. Better introduce a herd of wild buffalo into your school. When I paid the man, he walked out of my study singing the harvest hymn. You know—‘All is safely gathered in’. Can you imagine it?”

  “Yes. But the Jerrisons were not on your teaching staff. They worked in the house.”

  Light dawned.

  “Oh, the Jerrisons!” said Mr Topham. “Of course. They’re not thinking of returning to us?” he asked hopefully.

  “I’ve no reason to suppose so.”

  “Pity, that. The only time my wife was free of domestic troubles was while they were with us. Excellent people, excellent. Even Matron admitted it, though she did complain that Mrs Jerrison was inclined to gossip. As I told my wife, that, coming from Matron, was … but never mind, they were the best servants we have ever employed.”

  “Why did they leave you?” asked Carolus.

  “Oh that! Most unfortunate, really. My wife is very meticulous about quantities, you see. She likes to measure things out herself. Sugar, tea, mar … butter, bacon and so on. Absolutely necessary in catering, as we do, for fifty-odd boys and a staff of eight. Through long experience my wife knows just the quantities. They are generous without being prodigal. But it seemed that this did not accord with Mrs Jerrison’s ideas. There was some heated discussion concerning tea in the kitchen and cocoa at night. I forget the details. Tempers rose, however, and unfortunately Mrs Jerrison, who had been a treasure till then, used the word ‘stingy’. That was enough for my wife. She insisted that, treasure or no treasure, Mrs Jerrison must go. I tried to intervene. Matron did her best, but it seemed to add fuel to the flames. A tragedy, really.”

  “Did you know anything about them before they came to you?”

  “Oh yes. Unexceptionable references. He had a fine army record. She had been a sergeant in the WRAF. Their conduct was faultless until that distressing scene.”

  “And since?”

  “Ah, since. Yes, we did learn something. My senior assistant, a first-rate fellow, has one small weakness. He cannot resist a flutter. He follows horse-racing—avidly. It is his Achilles heel. I have had to mention it before now. There was an ominous silence from his classroom during the first period in the morning and I found that his boys were set to write an essay while he studied ‘formas he called it. While Jerrison was here, this was greatly intensified. They apparently formed a co-operative. Undignified in a member of the teaching staff, as I told Breechman. But highly successful, I gathered. My senior assistant did not come to me for a single advance of salary that term. After the Jerrisons left there was an attempt to continue this by correspondence, so we learned where they were employed. They went straight from us to a sea
side guest-house called Cat’s Cradle.”

  “Yes. I’m staying there.”

  “Are you thinking of employing the Jerrisons?”

  “No. I’m investigating two deaths in the house.”

  Mr Topham winced. “I thought you said you were a schoolmaster?”

  “I am. In term-time. But we all have our holiday relaxations. Yours, I see, is tennis.”

  “You mean I have been called in from a very exciting set to assist in some kind of amateur investigation?”

  “Two women have died rather mysteriously.”

  Mr Topham began to splutter. “This is really too much,” he said. “I am not interested in mysterious deaths in guest-houses.”

  “You see, you employed the Jerrisons. You were our only link with their past.”

  “I will not be called a link!” said Mr Topham angrily. Then added more calmly. “Are the Jerrisons suspected?”

  “Of what?”

  “Of anything. You say there have been two deaths.”

  “I don’t know whom the police suspect, or whether they have any suspicions. I wanted to know anything I could about the people in the house.”

  “So you drive up here posing as an applicant for a place on my staff, interrupt my well-earned relaxation and, saying you are a schoolmaster, ask me questions about a housekeeper and her husband we employed some years ago. I am glad I have told you nothing.”

  “On the contrary, you have told me a great deal. I’m most grateful to you.”

  Mr Topham made an explosive sound and showed Carolus out, not for the sake of politeness but as though he could not trust him alone in the entrance-hall.

  14

  DURING the few days after his return to Cat’s Cradle, Carolus learned just what Helena had meant by an atmosphere of threatening stillness before a storm. For one thing, the weather, incredibly, remained hot and humid, though it was now well into September and everyone kept saying it couldn’t last. For another thing, Miss Grey, who had never had a day’s illness since coming to Cat’s Cradle, complained of headaches and sleeplessness and said she was afraid the place was getting on her nerves.