3. The Discontented Ward
The following morning Billings woke to loud, frantic knocking on the door of his room and a woman’s voice calling to him.
“Mr Billings, open up! Please open the door!”
The female voice was joined shortly afterwards by that of a man.
“I will force the door, Mr Billings! I shall count to five and if I receive no response from you in that time, I will force the door! One! Two …”
Billings was still half asleep and it took him a few seconds to realise he was not dreaming.
“What is it?” he said finally in a croaking voice.
“Oh, thank God!”
“Mr Billings, open the door!”
He got up slowly and stumbled towards it, blinking in the harsh morning light. He had forgotten to close the curtains last night. He opened the door and Wilcox and Miss Bella Whitfield came hurrying in without waiting to be invited.
“What on earth happened to you?” cried Bella Whitfield.
“We've been banging on that door for nearly three minutes!” the butler reproved him.
“Nothing happened,” said Billings, still looking half dazed. “I was only sleeping.”
“Sleeping?” Bella Whitfield looked as though he'd just slapped her in the face. “We thought you'd become unwell. We hadn't heard from you all evening and when you didn't come down to breakfast this morning…”
“I must have been very tired.”
“You had us terribly worried! We thought you'd had a heart attack, or a stroke, or else you’d slipped and bumped your head against the fireplace.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Might I suggest, Detective Sergeant,” Wilcox chipped in, “that you omit to lock the door in the future.”
“Of course, I don't know why...”
“It's his profession,” the young lady concluded archly. “It makes him suspicious. He must take us all for a bunch of criminals. Let me assure you, nobody is going to rob you in this house.”
“No, naturally, I...”
“Well, at least we know you're all right. You can go now, Wilcox. I'm so sorry to have alarmed you.”
“Yes, miss.”
Wilcox gave Billings an angry look before leaving.
“The poor man,” said Bella as she stepped closer to Billings. “As if he hasn't enough to do already.”
She glanced around and screwed up her face. The room was a mess. The bowl of gruel which the cook had brought in the night before was still on the table, uneaten, with the spilled contents hardened and crusted on the table top. Billings’ satchel had fallen off the bed in the night and his spare clothes lay scattered all over the floor. The morphine ampoules were still on his bed, next to the opened wallet, but there was no sign of the syringe. Billings instantly started scanning the floor for it, but couldn't find it. He then noticed his right sleeve was rolled up and quickly pulled it down.
“What did you want to see me about?” he asked as he tidied his shirt.
“I thought you wanted to see me,” Bella answered. “Yesterday you told me you wanted an interview. Well, here I am. Mrs Thornton is still sleeping and I can make time for you now. I may not have the chance later.”
“Very well. I suppose you had better sit down.”
He grabbed a chair from under the table and placed it in the middle of the room, sweeping his discarded belongings under his bed with one foot as he did so, but Bella ignored him and continued pacing the room.
“I'm sorry you have to sleep here. It's not a very nice room, is it?”
“It's adequate.”
“It's dark and musty. I've always disliked it. Especially after...” She stopped talking abruptly.
“Especially after what?”
“What's that?” She was looking at something on the floor. She bent over and picked it up. The syringe. “So that's how you're able to sleep so soundly!” she exclaimed, holding it up before her.
Billings quickly grabbed it off her and turned away, embarrassed.
“What is it? Cocaine?” asked Bella.
“It's none of your business what it is, Miss Whitfield. It's just some medicine, that’s all.”
He unscrewed the needle, bundled it into his wallet with his ampoules and buried the whole kit underneath his pillow.
Bella smiled mockingly as she watched.
“You were talking about this room,” he continued, desperate to change the topic.
“This is where he died, you know.”
“Died? Who?”
“Roger, of course.”
“I thought he died out on the moors?”
“What? Oh, yes, he did. I just meant...” She suddenly became flustered. “What I meant was, this is where he lay.”
“You said, this is where he died.”
“I know I did, but that's not what I meant.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Oh, I see. You've started your interrogation already. I must be careful what I say and how I say it, mustn't I? I didn't mean die, Detective Sergeant. I meant lay dying. When he was already near to death Roger walked out on to the moors in feverish delusion and met his death there, but this is where he lay before that. Good heavens, you're certainly awake now, aren't you!”
“Tell me more about Roger Thornton.”
“Would you like to see his likeness?”
“Yes.”
She went towards the wardrobe and pulled out a large framed portrait, which had been concealed behind it.
“This used to hang in the dining room, but Mrs Thornton can't bear to look at it now.”
She handed the portrait to Billings who held it up before him. As he brushed the dust away from the canvas he suddenly saw a young man staring back at him, a handsome man with a pair of the deepest, bluest eyes Billings had ever seen. He was taken aback. He had read about Mr Thornton's supposed good looks in the police reports, but had not been prepared for this.
“You can see for yourself how handsome he was,” Bella Whitfield said.
“Yes.”
“Even you must admit he was a very handsome man.”
“Yes.”
Billings was still looking at the portrait, transfixed by the depth and gentleness of Mr Thornton’s gaze. He stared a little longer than propriety permitted, perhaps, because suddenly he became aware of Bella studying him with open curiosity.
“Do you see something in that portrait, Detective Sergeant Billings?”
“What? No, I was merely…” He put the canvas down and struggled to retrieve lost ground. “I can see why Mr Thornton was thought of as handsome,” said Billings as he walked over to the wardrobe to return the portrait to its place and to allow the heat in his own face to die down.
“How did your interview with Wilcox go?” Bella asked abruptly. “Did you learn anything new?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Oh, how intriguing. What was it?”
“I learned that Mr Thornton was a gambler.”
“Well, that’s hardly surprising, is it? Most young gentlemen are.”
“I also learned that you would lend him money as he didn’t have any of his own.”
There was a short pause before she replied.
“Oh. Did you indeed?”
“Why don’t you tell me about that?”
“Well… I suppose I’d better sit down then, if we’re to start the interview properly.” She seated herself and took a watch out of her breast pocket. “It is a quarter to eight now. Mrs Thornton expects me to wake her at nine and I have much to do in the meantime. That gives us fifteen minutes together. I shall talk to you for that long but not a second more. Is it agreed between us?”
“It is,” he replied.
“Now, to understand Roger you must first know the following,” she began. “He was a student at Cambridge and only came up to Hammerock in vacations to see his mother to whom he was very much attached. Everyone loved Roger and his presence always cheered this dark, gloomy house. He was
vain and irresponsible and lazy and an incorrigible flirt, but charming, undeniably charming. Everyone liked Roger Thornton, and some people loved him.”
There was a playfulness to Bella’s speech. A lot of smiles and coquettish glances, as if trying to manipulate Billings with her feminine wiles.
“I loved him too,” she continued. “But as a brother. As a naughty little brother who made me laugh with his scapegrace ways. I know that it was always assumed by the villagers in Grosmomt that Roger and I would one day be married – certainly my parents had always hoped that such a union would take place – but of course I realised that Mrs Thornton would never allow it. We wouldn't have been happy anyway. Roger was too young for me. He wouldn't have had the strength or the experience to handle me. I always had him wrapped around my little finger. But we did flirt when he was here. We flirted incessantly, in fact… It was a game, a pastime. There's nothing else to do on these godforsaken moors!
“Roger would go out every night. He'd sneak out of the house and go to The Old Boot in Grosmont to play cards with the local men, while I never went anywhere! I'm always stuck here, in this house, attending to Mrs Thornton. How does all that sound, Detective Sergeant?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Am I deviating from the statement I gave to York Constabulary?”
“Um…”
“I don’t think I am, am I? It was word for word, practically.” She smiled at him boldly.
“This is not a game, Miss Whitfield,” he chided her.
“No, it isn’t, but it’s tiring all the same, to have to repeat things over and over again.”
“Tell me more about the gambling.”
“Well, there was a man by the name of Bill Parker who regularly attended card games at the inn. He was Roger's chief rival. The two of them were engaged in an extended battle of wills played out over the card table. I would stay up at night and wait for Roger to return, desperate to hear about his latest adventures. He was all I had, you see? He was my window on to the world. That’s why I gave him money. Mrs Thornton pays me a small monthly allowance, but Lord knows, I have nothing else to spend it on. Anyway, after last Lent term Roger had a glorious victory over Bill Parker. He came home at around two o’clock in the morning and barged straight into my room.
“'Bella, my darling! Bella, my belle!' he said as he stumbled towards me, sweating and reeking of liquor.
“'Roger, for heaven's sake!' I rushed to lock the door behind him. 'Your mother will hear. Look at the state of you!'
“'I'm intoxicated!'
“'Yes, you are.'
“'Come here, my darling, let me give you a kiss.'
“He grabbed me by the shoulders but I prised myself free and pushed him into the armchair, leaving him with only my scarf in his hands.
“'You really must be quiet, Roger, or your mother will hear,' I told him.
“'Oh, Bella, why are you so cruel to me?'
“He turned his face away, sank back in the armchair and began playing with the scarf. He stroked his face with it then placed it over his head and began sniffing it.
“'I love the way you smell,’ he said. ‘It's the scent of wet blossom and the autumn breeze.'
“He always became so tiring and feeble when he was drunk. I tried taking the scarf off him, but he fought me for it.
“'No! Don't take this away from me! If I can't have you, let me at least have your scarf!'
“He yanked it out of my hands and stuffed it inside his shirt.
“'There! I shall keep it here. Close to my heart. For ever.'
“I frowned at him.
“'Where are my winnings?' I asked.
“'Winnings?'
“'So you lost again!'
“'No! I won! How else do you think I got this drunk? I'll pay you back, don’t worry.'
“'You always say that, and you never do.'
“I didn't really mind. As I said, I had no other use for the money.
“'You should've seen the state I left Bill Parker in,’ Roger continued. ‘I bled him dry. Poor fool, how I tortured him tonight! He was forced to walk home barefoot. He lost his shoes to the boys from the brewery.'
“'Who else was there?’ I asked. I was never really interested in his feud with Parker. It was the other people in the tavern I wanted to hear about. I never get to meet new people in this godforsaken house. You’re the first I’ve met since the constabulary visited. ‘Was that man there again?' I asked Roger. 'The one you told me about last week. The elegant gentleman who's visiting from York.'
“'What do you care if he was there or not? I'm telling you about my glorious victory over Bill Parker.'
“'Tell me about the gentleman. I like to know these things. Was his wife with him? What was she wearing?'
“'I don't remember what she was wearing. I was only interested in Parker. I was determined to take everything he had. And I did! How I enjoyed watching him squirm. He even offered me his girl.'
“'His girl?'
“'His beloved. His betrothed. He offered her to me as a stake.'
“'Did you accept it?'
“'Of course not. I only have eyes for you.'
“'Roger, if you're going to talk like that, you had better go back to your room!'
“'I can't, I'm too drunk. I can't even get out of this chair. You'll have to call Wilcox.'
“'He’s sleeping.'
“'Call Gracie then.'
“'Gracie is sleeping too. They're all sleeping.'
“'I think she's in love with me.'
“'Everyone is in love with you.'
“'Except for you.'
“'Except for me. Now come on, Roger, you really must go now, before someone hears you.'
I grabbed his hand and started pulling him out of the chair, but he resisted.
“'Why won't you love me, Bella?'
“'Hush, Roger. We mustn't wake your mother.'
“'Why are you the only woman not to love me?'
“'It’s your share of the world's misery, Roger, that's all. We all have our burden, this is yours.'
“'But it's the cruellest one!'
“'No, it's not. Now please, Roger. You must get up and go to your own room. If your mother finds out, I will be the one to be reprimanded.'
“Mrs Thornton knew of course what her son was up to at nights in the village. She knew and disapproved, but she didn't have the power or the energy to stop him so she turned a blind eye. That's her method of dealing with the things she has no control over. She locks herself in her room and ignores them. Things wouldn't have got as far as they did if only she'd intervened…
“There, it's nine o'clock. That's your fifteen minutes, Detective Sergeant. I have to wake up Mrs Thornton now.”
Bella Whitfield put her watch back into her pocket, got up and made for the door.
“What did you mean by that last comment?” Billings asked as he grabbed her arm and halted her.
“The interview is over now. We had an agreement.”
“Just tell me what you meant.”
“I can't. Mrs Thornton needs me. She always needs me! There's nothing privileged about my position here. I'm just another servant in this house.”
Bella shook herself free from his grasp and stormed out into the corridor.
“When will I be able to talk to Mrs Thornton?” he called after her.
The young lady laughed.
“Oh, I don't believe she has any intention of being interviewed!” And Bella Whitfield whisked away from him.
4. The Foul-mouthed Cook
Martha Pringle the cook was squatting before the stove as Billings entered the kitchen. She was brushing the soot and cinders into a dustpan and didn’t hear him come in. Billings cleared his throat to attract her attention. She jumped and turned around to face him, her face covered in soot.
“Oh, it’s thee,” she said, scowling at him. “Tha’rt too late for breakfast!” Pronounced ‘brake-fast’, the proper Yorkshire way.
“I don't want any,” he dismissed this.
“Should've got up on time if tha wanted t’eat!” she scolded, ignoring his comment. “We're not like yon lazy London folks! We're early risers here. Work long days.”
“I don't want any breakfast,” he repeated. “I just want to interview you.”
“Interview me?”
“Yes.”
Martha hesitated for a short while, then turned back to the stove and continued cleaning it.
“I got no time for interviews, maister! I'm too busy.”
“I'm afraid I must insist. Will you sit down please, Mrs Pringle?”
“What for?”
“So that I may interview you properly.”
“What dost tha want to interview me for?”
“I just want to ask you a few questions about Gracie.”
“Why?”
“You spent a lot of time with her. I'd like you to tell me more about her.”
“What's that old fart been saying?”
“Old fart?”
“Wilcox! What's he been saying about me?”
“Nothing.”
“Has he been painting me black?”
“No.”
“Has he been telling thee how I didn't get on with Gracie?”
“No.”
“Because he's a twisted old liar, is Wilcox! Tha shouldn't believe a word he says!”
“He didn't say anything about you. Come and sit down at the table, Mrs Pringle.”
Martha hesitated a little longer but eventually put down her brush and pan on the stove and walked reluctantly to the kitchen table. They both sat down.
“What did that little tease have to say for hersen?” she asked suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“The li'l madam who were in tha room this a while?”
Death Takes a Lover Page 3
