“Can I speak to you, please?” she asked.
“If you wish.” rejoined Macdonald quietly. “Shall we go upstairs to your sitting room? Your husband is on the sofa in the drawing room. He may be awake, and if he hears you talking he may want to come and join in.”
She nodded, a sort of surprised look in her eves—surprise that anybody could sound as tranquil and ordinary as this C.I.D. man did. She led the way upstairs and they went into the sitting room, where bowls of daffodils were in flower, each bowl standing on a cork mat which protected the rosewood tables.
Macdonald closed the door and stood just inside the room. “You’ll be worrying about your husband. Mrs. Strange. He’s all right. He knocked his head as he fell and he’s concussed a bit, but it’s nothing to worry about. Are you sure you want to talk now? Wouldn’t you be better advised to wait until morning? It’s easy to get things out of focus in the middle of the night.”
“Haven’t we all got things out of focus?” she asked. “That’s just the trouble. I can’t go to sleep, and I’d rather talk to you and get it over. I lost my head just now, when I asked you if Tony had killed Madge, but I was terrified when I heard that crash. I’d like to explain, if I may.”
“As you will,” said Macdonald; “but remember that we, as police, have had plenty of experience of what nervous tension can do, even to seemingly well-balanced, well-behaved people like yourselves. It’s very difficult to keep quite normal under circumstances like this.”
“That was very kindly said,” she replied. “I think you’d be quite justified in considering us all mentally unstable.”
“I don’t do that,” replied Macdonald. “Nerves affect different people in different ways. For instance, Miss Madge has kept her self-control completely when she was awake. When she went to sleep her subconscious took over and she walked in her sleep. Didn’t it occur to you when you heard her come downstairs on Monday night that that might be the explanation?”
“No. I just didn’t think of it. Do you mean that you did?”
“Yes. You could make two assumptions. First, the one your husband made, that she was responsible for killing Mrs. Farrington. If that were so, would she have been likely, when she was awake, to come downstairs at the very moment when the twins were taking their visitors down, with the possibility that the light in the hall would be switched on so that she was seen by them? Of course she wouldn’t. It was the very last moment she would have chosen. But if she were walking in her sleep, the whole thing was perfectly explicable. The slight sound overhead, when the party moved off, was enough to make her stir, and she went downstairs unconsciously. I think she probably went right down to the kitchen, as she did tonight. She told me she had taken three aspirin tablets, so she was very sound asleep.”
“Do you believe all that she says?” asked Anne incredulously.
“She has been much more accurate than most witnesses,” replied Macdonald. “Some things she has omitted. 1 know that, but no witness can be expected to relate every detail which may go in the scale against them.”
Anne shivered. “You said there were two assumptions,” she said slowly; “one being Tony’s.”
“Yes. One that she was guilty, and if so, I argued she wasn’t awake. But if she were innocent, and had still been awake, she would certainly have asked the twins what they were doing, and you would have heard her.”
“But you didn’t know if I were telling the truth.” said Anne. “Of course I didn’t—but I believed you had heard what you said you had heard when you described the dragging sound her dressing gown made and the faint thud of bedroom slippers. That was observation, not make-up. Now what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“What I said about Tony. It was crazy of me, but I was nearly frantic because I knew he had made up his mind that Madge killed his mother, and we’ve all been getting more and more on edge as the day went on. I heard him get up and I heard Madge when she got out of bed and I was stark terrified. Of course it was crazy, but things get like that at night. Then I heard that awful crash, and I went flying downstairs, absolutely convinced that something hideous had happened. And the door at the top of the stairs was locked and 1 heard your voices, and I think I just went mad with sheer nerves.”
“That’s the way things can happen,” said Macdonald. “It didn’t occur to you that the converse had happened and that Madge had attacked your husband?”
“No. She wouldn’t I can’t tell you why I’m so sure, but I don’t believe Madge did it. That’s why I got so unreasonable with Tony, even though, as he pointed out. Paula tried to make out I did it. But I wanted to explain to you why I said such a frightful thing about Tony. I just didn’t know what I was saying.”
‘Let’s try to get this straight,” said Macdonald. ‘‘What you’re really thinking is that your husband believes that Madge killed his mother and he’s determined that it shall be proved she killed her, willy-nilly?”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “I’ve got to the stage when I dare not look my own thoughts in the face. Of course I knew all about Tony and Madge. Mrs. Farrington brought them both up. She adored Tony and hated Madge. Tony was one of those successful children, bonny and clever and healthy, admired by everybody. Madge was plain and stupid and sullen. She must have had a miserable childhood, and of course she was always trying spiteful silly tricks on Tony—you can’t blame her. So whenever anything went wrong Madge was always blamed, and it’s the same now. Tony can’t be fair to her. I don’t like Madge, but I haven’t got a thing about her, like Tony has.”
“Did you realise that Mrs. Farrington insisted that Madge was of unsound mind?”
“I’ve heard her make horrible suggestions, but she never risked saying anything outright to me. I loathed Mrs. Farrington. We all did, except Tony and Eddie, and even Tony got mad sometimes, especially when Mrs. Farrington said things about me.”
She broke off abruptly and then went on hastily: “So you see. we weren’t a very happy household. I suppose I could have got out of it if I hadn’t been so lazy, but I’m a born procrastinator. Always hoping things will be better.”
Macdonald, listening to a great deal in Anne’s narrative that was already familiar to him, noted the one point which opened a new vista on this sorry story of family feuds. Anne went on: “When you first questioned me I tried to observe the decencies, to pretend that everything here was all right. It’s second nature to try to cover up family difficulties when you’re talking to a stranger. But now I know it’s no good. You’ve seen us all with the lid off. Do believe me when I tell you that even I didn’t realise how bad things had got, with Madge and the twins being in such a state.”
“Did you know that Peter had backed a bill he couldn’t meet and that Paula was ready to do anything to get the money for him?”
“I knew he was in a mess and that she wanted money to get him out of it. I didn’t realise he’d taken to drugs. None of us knew that, unless Paula did.” Her voice died away, a very weary voice, and then she made one more effort. “You do realise 1 didn’t mean what I said about Tony attacking Madge? I know he wouldn’t do anything violent, he’s simply not made like that.”
“All right,” said Macdonald gently. “I won’t hold you accountable for what you said, and, in any case, no wife is asked to give evidence against her husband, you know, even when there’s quite a lot to give. So why not try to go to sleep and forget it all for now?”
“If I could only wake up and find it was all a nightmare,” she replied.
CHAPTER XV
“ANNE, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about Mrs. Farrington’s death. If I had I’d never have come worrying you now.”
Veronica Coniston stood on the hearthstoned doorstep of Windermere House and looked at Anne Strange in some embarrassment. “So I’ll just run away now and ring you up sometime later if I may,” concluded Ronnie.
“No, don’t do that,” said Anne. “Come upstairs and talk to me. I’m sorry if I stared at you
as though you were a stranger, but life’s been a bit wearing. I’m terribly pleased to see you, so come along in. How’s the infant, and how’s Tom?”
“The infant’s bursting with health, and Tom’s trying to teach me to play chess,” said Veronica as they crossed the hall and went upstairs. The house was utterly quiet, and it felt cold, as though the central heating were off, but Veronica was mainly concerned about Anne. “She looks deadly,” thought Veronica. “What on earth can be the matter?”
“I’ve always wanted to play chess, but I can’t think several moves ahead,” said Anne, her voice elaborately casual. “Here we are, Ronnie. Don’t my daffs look lovely?”
It was nearly half an hour later that Veronica said: “I see,” as she had said once before. Anne, after avoiding the subject for some time, had at length told her friend about Mrs. Farrington’s sudden death and about the doctor’s refusal to sign a death certificate. Veronica, helplessly at sea, had murmured her meaningless little phrase because she didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry you’re so worried, Anne,” she went on, and then Anne had put her face in her hands and cried.
“Sorry, Ronnie, but I feel better for the weep all the same,” said Anne at last. “You might as well hear the rest. I don’t suppose I ought to have asked you to come in, but I didn’t think of that. We shall be in all the papers tomorrow, and the reporters may get on to you. She was murdered.”
Veronica became conscious of a mounting sense of horror as Anne, her voice no more than a murmur, told of the nightmare which held them all in its grip. “We’re all in it, Ronnie, every single one of us,” said Anne. “We’re suspects, we could, any of us, have done it, and I don’t see how they can ever prove who did. We all had something to gain by her death.” Veronica shivered; then she pulled herself together and summoned her courage and common sense to her aid.
“Listen to me, Anne. I can see that it’s horrible, and if I were living here I expect it would have got me down, as it’s get you, but remember I come in from outside. I’m not numbed by the horror of it all, and I can look at it squarely. No one is going to believe that a woman like you committed murder because your mother-in-law exasperated you. It’s silly. You’re not living in a vacuum. You’ve got a past, and a character which was known—and proved. I knew you, remember. So did your commanding officers in the W.R.A.F. No one’s going to believe a thing like that about you, or about Tony, either.”
“I don’t know. Ronnie,” replied Anne. “Are you sure you don’t mind me talking about it? Somebody may get on to you next and ask you questions about me.”
“Let ’em.” replied Veronica. “I’ll tell them what I know about you, and if they ask me what you said, they’ll be told to go straight to hell, the faster the better. So get on with it, and for heaven’s sake let’s look at it straight.”
Anne looked into the fire, her face set and weary. “Sometimes, when I’ve read detective novels, I’ve thought how idiotic it was to make sensible, well-balanced people tie themselves up into knots and say dotty things they didn’t mean.” she said. “I always imagined I could keep my head and answer with some semblance of dignity and self-control, only saying what I meant to say and avoiding throwing mean suspicions on other people. Well, I started off like that. Then things began to go haywire. The twins went off the deep end and lost their heads. Then I told Tony that I’d heard Madge come downstairs on the Monday night, and Tony went to the Chief Inspector and said Madge was mental and she had killed Mrs. Farrington. So the Chief Inspector came to me and told me to repeat what I’d told Tony about Madge. I said that I’d heard the twins come downstairs on Monday night and Madge went down too. Paula was listening at the door, and she went hysterical and burst in and raved at me because I said I’d seen Peter come downstairs, ending up by saying she’d seen me go into Mrs. Farrington’s room in the middle of the night.”
“Well, no experienced police officer’s going to take any notice of accusations from a hysterical girl,” said Veronica stoutly.
“No. but it all adds up,” said Anne helplessly. “Hasn’t everybody got something in their lives they don’t much want to talk about, Ronnie? It seems to me as though we’re all being stripped naked. Everybody’s private affairs have become the subject of police inquiry: Peter’s idiotic backing of a bill he didn’t even understand, Joyce and Philip’s debts and private rows. Eddie’s evenings at his club, poor old darling, and my picking up an old friendship with Nigel Fairboys.”
“I thought you’d washed out Nigel ages ago, Anne.”
“I did, but when I got terse with Tony, when he wouldn’t take any interest in getting a home of our own, I just happened across Nigel again, and I thought it might make Tony sit up and take notice, because he’s always been hellishly jealous. What I didn’t realise was that Mrs. Farrington had seen me and Nigel together and she had started a smear campaign about us with Tony. Instead of having it out with me, he just seethed inside. And now I suppose that Scotland Yard’s looking into all that and working out that both Tony and I were—well, hating the old lady with a deadly hatred because she was trying to make our marriage come unstuck.”
Veronica sat in silence, appalled at the implications of all that Anne had been saying. “Do they know about Niael—the C.I.D.?” she asked.
“I expect so,” replied Anne drearily. “I made a bad break with the Chief Inspector last night. We’d had a frightful scene, with Madge walking in her sleep and Tony following her downstairs. Oh. it was hideous. Ronnie. The two C.I.D. men were both in the house and saw and heard everything with the lid off. I thought I could make things better by talking to the Chief Inspector afterwards.”
“What’s he like?” asked Veronica.
Anne hesitated. “If I weren’t so frightened of him I should just say he’s a terribly nice person. He’s got a very quiet voice—an unusually pleasant voice, with the least bit of Scottish accent in it—and he listens to all you tell him, and is honestly very kind and sympathetic. He’s been a dear to Eddie. But I’m frightened of him. He doesn’t miss a thing, and he knows I wasn’t really straight to start with. I tried to pretend everything was all right here.”
“Well, anybody would have,” said Veronica comfortingly. “No one could be expected to say, ‘We all loathed one another and she was a horrible woman, anyway.’ ”
“Oh. I know. I think he sees all that, but when I tried to get things sorted out a bit last night, and told him a little about what Mrs. F. was like. I let out that she’d been saying things to Tony about me. He didn’t say anything or ask any questions, but I realised afterwards he’d spotted it at once. He’s like that. He just gets his evidence from the mistakes we make and adds it all up.”
“What’s his name, Anne?”
“Macdonald.”
“But he’s frightfully well known. isn’t he? I heard someone talking about him once when we were discussing police systems in different countries, and Macdonald was quoted as an example of scrupulous fairness and impartiality.”
“I dare say he is impartial, and fair, too, but there’s something relentless about his very impartiality. Anyway, Eve got to the point when I should be almost relieved if they arrested me, and I could just sit in a cell and go into a coma and not think any more about anything. I’m tired of it all. Ever since Tuesday morning, when the doctor came, I’ve just been feeling more and more frightful over the whole thing.”
“Oh, Anne, pull yourself together and show a little spunk,” cried Veronica indignantly. “You know you didn’t do it. I know you didn’t do it, without even asking you, so don’t talk nonsense.”
Anne heaved a very large sigh. “If you only knew what a comfort it is to hear your sensible ordinary voice, Ronnie. None of us in this house is capable of being our normal selves any longer. That damned old woman. It makes me so mad. She tried to spoil all our lives—she drove Madge to the border of insanity, she ruined the twins, she made Tony believe I was a dirty trollop, she drove Eddie to spending his time
in a low-down pub, she made Joyce wish she were dead. While she was alive she was a hundred per cent curse and now she’s dead she’s added compound interest.”
“That’s better, Anne,” said Veronica. “Get mad over it. It’s much healthier to get in a tearing rage than to sit and gloom over cells and comas. And do remember, although it’s frightful now. there’s always tomorrow.”
“I do try to remember that. I’ll make Tony sell this bloody house. Ronnie, or else give it away. She’s left it to him. She would. Oh, lord, I’d gladly go and live in a hovel, anything, anywhere, away from all this. God, who’s that?”
2
It was Colonel Farrington who had knocked. He stood at the door with a little anxious, deprecating smile.
“Can I come in. my dear? Oh—I beg your pardon, I didn’t realise you weren’t alone.”
“Come in, Eddie. It’s Ronnie. You met her before, didn’t you? Come along in and shut the door. I’ve been telling her all our woes, and she’s been such a dear and done me so much good.”
“Then I’m very grateful to her,” said Colonel Farrington, Having shut the door carefully and pulled the curtain across it. he came and shook hands with Veronica.
“The sight of you would do anyone good, my dear,” he said. “You look so wholesome and healthy and happy. I’m afraid we have got into a sadly morbid state here. It’s all been very wearing, and I’m afraid we haven’t shown up so well as we should in the face of tribulation, though Anne has been very good, very straight and sensible. I never realised before how important it was to be absolutely straight in an inquiry of this kind. Let thy Yea be yea, and thy Nay, nay.”
“You make me ashamed of myself, Eddie.” said Anne. “You’re the only one of us who has had the courage to live up to your own convictions.”
“Madge has come out of it best.” said the Colonel quietly. “She has just told the truth, and it was hardest for her. I’ve realised that all along.” He turned to Veronica. “You see, Madge, as a nurse, was bound to bear the brunt at first. It was so easy to say she could have done it. She had the requisite skill and knowledge. But I think the worst of it’s over.” He turned back to Anne. “I dare not say too much, my dear, but I think we can see daylight. I’ve had a long talk with the Chief Inspector. He’s a very fine man, and I respect him wholeheartedly. He hasn’t let a detail escape him. It seems they have found some strange fingerprints in Muriel’s room—prints which could not have been made by anybody in this house.”
Murder of a Martinet Page 18
