by Caron Allan
He went to the next door along the hall. He thumped on the door and at the same time tried the handle. The door was locked, just as Deirdre had said. Frowning, Gervase pounded again. There was no response. Bending to look through the keyhole, Gervase recoiled with an oath and set himself to kicking at the door.
‘My God, Reggie! He’s in there, he’s lying across his desk. There’s—there’s blood—lots of it.’
The door wouldn’t budge. For a brief mad second he thought about using a chair to try to batter it down, but the door would be too strong for that. Instead, he turned and ran out of the house into the garden, round to the door, Dottie and Deirdre in his wake. Deirdre was clutching at Dottie and sobbing under her breath and saying some garbled form of a half-remembered prayer from Sunday school. Dottie felt like doing the same; all the way she was thinking, please let it all be a mistake, but she knew in her heart it was real.
None of it had been any use. Eventually Gervase had managed to break the lock and get the garden door open, but it was all too clear from the way Reggie leaned forward with his head on his desk, the blood pooled on his blotting pad in front of him, that there was nothing anyone could do.
Glass crunched under foot as Dottie and Deirdre stepped into the room. Gervase tried to prevent them from coming up to the desk, but the women wanted to see, wanted to be sure that there was nothing left to do other than mourn for Reggie Parfitt. Dottie tried to prevent Deirdre from clutching at him, though she did just stroke his hair back from his face, wiping his blood on her dress.
He was still sitting at the desk, his hands neatly folded in front of him on the desk-top. There was a wound on the side of his head, and the impact of whatever blow he had received had knocked him sideways so that his hands were in front of his mouth. The blood had run down his forehead and onto the blotter, spilling over the edge and onto the shining wood. His eyes were open and staring ahead, fixed on some spot no one else could see.
Deirdre became calm at this point, and it was she who unlocked the door to the hall, put an arm around Gervase, who was overcome with emotion, and with Dottie’s help led him back to the drawing room. It was Deirdre who quietly and calmly summoned the police in spite of Gervase’s harsh cry of, ‘No! What are you doing that for?’ It was Deirdre who explained gently to Gervase that Reggie’s death could not have been natural and that the police must be informed.
Dottie went to make tea. It had transpired that it was the maid’s afternoon off, and that they had no other full-time staff. As she had found before in times like this, focussing on practical matters helped her to cope with an upsetting situation. Whilst she waited for the kettle to boil, she wondered if she should try to find something stronger for Gervase. He was so upset, and that was hardly surprising. He had now lost all three of his brothers: the eldest during the war, then Artie just two months ago, and now Reggie. It was terribly sad. If a man was born into a family with three brothers, he surely had every right to expect some of them to grow old with himself.
But who could have done such a terrible thing? She wondered briefly if there was anything odd about Deirdre’s calm manner. The kettle came to the boil and she poured a little water into the teapot to warm it. As she did so she reflected on Deirdre’s behaviour, eventually concluding that, in the face of her worst fears being proved true, Deirdre had nothing left to fear, and was able to calm herself. Or perhaps it was simply delayed shock.
Dottie finished making the tea and took it through to the drawing room. Gervase was red-eyed but calm, not quite able to smile at her as she came in, though he got up to take the tray from her and set it on the table, and thanked her for making the tea. Deirdre was wiping her eyes, so she had been weeping again, Dottie thought. Nevertheless, she was touched by Deirdre’s quiet composure.
As she began to pour the tea, they heard the sound of cars arriving.
‘The police are here,’ Deirdre said. Gervase stood up, straightening his shoulders and scrubbing his face on his sleeve.
‘Right then, let’s sort out this bloody mess.’
As soon as he’d let the police into the house, he took the senior fellow into the study. Dottie hoped Gervase wasn’t trying to pull rank and take over the investigation. Somehow though, she had a feeling he would be doing exactly that. She thought from things she’d heard from himself and from Penny that he was rather inclined to use his position, and no doubt this would put the policeman’s back up.
Dottie and Deirdre stayed in the drawing room, waiting. The young police constable was on the telephone summoning all the people needed in such cases. Dottie took Deirdre’s hand and said, ‘There will be rather of lot of people arriving, I’m afraid. They will ask a lot of questions and will be backwards and forwards to the study taking photographs. Then at some point an ambulance will come and take poor Reggie away.’
Deirdre nodded. She didn’t say anything for a full minute, but then she said, ‘What on earth shall I do about all his lupins?’ She burst into tears on Dottie’s shoulder, fortunately making enough noise that Dottie’s suddenly smothered laugh was drowned out. It seemed terrible to laugh at such a time, but when Deirdre had said that, Dottie had immediately wondered to whom Reggie had bequeathed his precious plants. Poor Reggie. Dottie’s eyes stung with tears. With Dottie’s arm about Deirdre’s shoulders, they sat and waited.
The young policeman finished telephoning eventually and knocked on the study door and went in. Dottie wished she knew what was going on in there, and what they were all saying. But then practically straight away Gervase came out. He had on his inscrutable expression, Dottie saw: his feelings and thoughts were hidden behind an impassive face. She thought this was what Penny had referred to when she had talked about his ‘policeman’s head’. It was a useful expression for a policeman or a card player, but not for a boyfriend.
He stood in the doorway and said, ‘How are you both holding up?’ but in such a toneless voice, Dottie didn’t know if he was really interested in the answer, or if it was just something to say.
Nevertheless, Dottie said that she was all right, and Deirdre simply nodded.
‘Good, good,’ he said. He half-turned away, saying in a distracted manner, ‘I’ll telephone to Michaels and let him know what’s happened. I’ll ask him to send a car for you both to take you back to Penny’s. Dottie, help Deirdre to pack a few things, will you?’
‘Of course,’ Dottie said, with a glance at Deirdre. Would she want to leave her home and go to Penny’s?
But Deirdre simply nodded meekly once again and said, ‘Yes, Gervase.’
‘As soon as I’ve phoned Michaels, I’ve got to go to my parents and break the news to them before some idiot of a delivery boy tells the cook. I can’t have Mother finding out like that.’
Dottie called to him as he was about to walk away. ‘Gervase, are—are you quite all right?’ She knew it was a ridiculous thing to ask but his calm detached manner worried her more than his earlier grief.
He gave her a fleeting smile that seemed entirely automatic. ‘Quite all right, dear, thank you.’
‘Do we need to wait until the inspector had spoken to us?’ she asked.
‘Certainly not. I’ve told him he may come and see you in the morning.’
‘Oh.’ Dottie watched him walk away to make his phone call, then moments later she heard his voice speaking softly.
She turned to Deirdre. ‘Shall we go and pack a few things?’
Deirdre looked as if she had come to the end of what she could take. She managed a brief nod. Dottie helped her upstairs, persuading her to lie down for a rest, and Dottie went about the room, putting Deirdre’s things into a suitcase. This reminded Dottie she was supposed to be going home in the morning: her own suitcase was almost packed and ready to go. Well, she thought, that’s all off. I shall have to let Mother know I’m likely to be staying on a bit longer.
When they were ready to leave, Dottie went in search of Gervase. She found him outside the study garden door with the inspector and
the constable, huddled under a huge fishing umbrella. The men looked up as she approached.
She smiled and nodded at the policemen, then to Gervase she said, ‘We’re going now.’
‘Of course,’ he said, and kissed her on the cheek. The constable was dusting the door with the grey powder they use for checking for fingerprints. Dottie looked at the ground by the door. There was a single stone step that led onto paving stones that went right around the house to the front door in one direction and the patio across the back of the house in the opposite direction. She pointed at the broken glass on the stone step.
‘That’s rather odd, isn’t it? But I expect you’ve already noticed it.’
The three men looked at her as if she were raving.
‘What do you mean, dear?’ Gervase asked. His tone was rather chilly. He wasn’t happy with her for speaking. But she felt she had to explain now that she had said something.
‘I’m sure you’ve already discussed it. It’s just, well, when we were trying to get in, we stepped on the glass.’
‘Yes, Miss, the broken glass comes from the broken pane in the door,’ the constable explained to her in an excessively patient voice, which infuriated her, as he waved a hand at the door to demonstrate the obvious. He and the inspector exchanged a look of amusement. Gervase merely looked annoyed.
‘Of course,’ Dottie said. ‘But when one breaks a window from the outside, the broken glass should be mainly on the inside. If you are inside and smash a window, the glass will fall outside. As can be seen by the glass that fell on the carpet when Gervase—I’m sorry, Mr Parfitt, I mean—broke the little bit of glass by the lock, when he was attempting to open the door.’
Now they were all frowning at her. They were annoyed that she had seen something they had overlooked.
‘Real life is not like the pictures, Miss,’ said the inspector coldly.
‘Science is science, inspector,’ she snapped, ‘whether in the pictures or in real life. That pane was broken from the inside. Which means the killer did it deliberately to make it appear someone broke into the house, when in fact they obviously were let in by Mr Reggie Parfitt himself. It’s quite clear that he was killed by someone he neither feared nor distrusted, someone who was known to him.’ With that she turned and stormed off.
Chapter Sixteen
IT WAS A LONG AND DIFFICULT weekend.
On arriving back at Penny’s house a little after ten o’clock on Friday evening, they found the doctor there, administering a sedative to Penny, who had succumbed to an attack of hysterics on hearing the news about Reggie. So much so that Michaels had called an ambulance. Miranda had accompanied Penny to hospital where Penny had been seen by a matron, who told her to pull herself together, and sent her home again less than half an hour later.
Dottie was relieved that Penny was confined to bed, and hoped she would sleep and not make a nuisance of herself. Deirdre had enough to cope with as it was. Miranda looked as if she was enjoying the whole event, for which Dottie could have cheerfully slapped her. Margaret bustled in and out with cups of tea and cocoa, looking ghostly pale and shocked.
When Deirdre had gone up to bed, to Dottie’s room, as they were sharing, Dottie went in search of Margaret. She found her in the scullery, putting some cloths to soak overnight in bleach.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked Margaret.
Margaret shook her head and continued to get on with what she was doing. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ she said eventually. ‘Poor Reggie. He was rather boring, but a sweet man. To think that such a terrible thing could—could happen. It’s beyond bearing.’ She wept softly.
Dottie still wasn’t completely certain what Reggie—or indeed any of the Parfitt men—meant to Margaret, but she felt sorry for her, seeing her so upset.
Margaret wiped her eyes on her apron and finished what she was doing at the sink. Then she came over to put out the light. They returned to the kitchen. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else you need?’ Margaret asked. Dottie felt as if Margaret had once again donned her professional persona and retreated across the distance that placed between them.
‘No nothing, thank you. Goodnight,’ Dottie said. She went back upstairs.
Seeing that Deirdre was asleep when she reached her room. Dottie pulled out the envelope Gervase had given her what felt like aeons ago at his home.
She took out the wallet first of all. It was made of rubbed and worn brown leather, with no distinguishing marks or monogram. It was simply very plain, very well-used. Inside there was a cinema ticket stub, a pound note and a ten shilling note, and a tiny, creased photo of a girl smiling at the camera. She wore a flower in her hair, and a long, formal evening gown, with another matching flower on her shoulder. On the back of the photo it said, ‘Forever in my heart, Lois’. There followed three Xs—kisses—and the date, which was February 14th 1914.
In addition to the wallet there were the cigarettes and book of matches, but they seemed ordinary, there was nothing personal about them. Lastly there was the small reference book, which was about animal anatomy. It had the name ‘Clifford J Bell’ written neatly in ink on the flyleaf.
Saturday was long and tedious. Penny and Miranda continued to make the most of the shocking news, with little regard for Deirdre’s feelings. They were excited by the arrival of the police inspector, who took first Deirdre, then Dottie into the dining room to ask them questions.
Dottie was only surprised Gervase didn’t accompany the inspector. She hadn’t heard from him since the night before. It was only to be expected, she thought. After all, he would be busy with his parents. What a terrible shock it had been for all three of them. She would have liked to phone, but felt reluctant to intrude on their grief, especially after Gervase had been so annoyed with her over her comments about the glass.
As she took the seat at the dining table opposite the inspector, Dottie wondered if he would say anything about what she’d said the day before. She felt rather like a schoolchild summoned to the headmistress’s office for a reprimand. She could feel herself blushing before he even asked her anything.
In fact, it was all quite easy. She told him her name and address and explained briefly how she came to know the assistant chief constable, which was how the inspector referred to Gervase. Then he asked her what had happened to make them go to Reggie Parfitt’s home. At last he told her she was free to go, thanking her for her time. As she was about to leave, he said, ‘By the way, what you said about the glass on the ground.’
She sighed. She had almost got away with it, she thought. She knew she had gone red again, but said with as much gravitas as she could muster, ‘Yes, inspector, what about it?’
‘What you said. That was the first thing our forensic specialist told us.’ He gave her a grin. She left the room smiling.
On Sunday, Miranda and Penny insisted on going to church, though Dottie knew that they were far from regular attendees. She wondered if this was simply another way of enjoying the latest tragedy to its fullest. They asked her to go with them, and she intended to decline, but then she thought it might be a relief for Deirdre to have some time alone, so she accepted.
She saw Margaret sitting at the back of church with her little boy. He looked bored, his legs swinging and occasionally kicking the pew in front of him and earning him an annoyed glance from the stout lady who occupied the pew. Margaret seemed distracted and unaware of what her son was doing. Dottie saw with concern that Margaret looked terribly pale. Her eyes had deep dark circles under them. She wasn’t sleeping. It could be anything that was on her mind, but to Dottie it seemed logical that it was sorrow about Reggie’s death. Dottie made up her mind to ask Margaret again later if she was all right, and if there was anything she could do. Perhaps this latest event would push Margaret into leaving sooner rather than later.
Dottie was surprised to see Gervase and his parents arrive and take their seats in a pew enclosed by waist-high wooden railing. They spoke little to one another, and kept their eyes on t
heir prayer-books or the floor throughout the service.
When it was over, Miranda and Penny rushed to speak with the Parfitts, and Dottie followed them over. After the others had turned from Gervase to talk to his parents and the vicar, Dottie took her chance.
‘Are you still angry with me?’ she asked.
He smiled and leaned to kiss her cheek. ‘No dear, of course not.’ He looked pale and tired, but his smile was warm. ‘Is it all right if I come over later?’ He took her hand and put it through his arm. They turned and began to follow the parishioners from the church.
She was surprised. ‘Yes of course. You should know you don’t need to ask.’
‘Just wanted to check. I’m afraid I had completely forgotten about your plans to go home yesterday. I’m so glad you’re still here. Do you know when you’re leaving?’
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t thought about it yet. But Deirdre is going home tomorrow. I think it will be a lot more restful for her to be in her own home. Miranda and Penny are being mawkish to a ludicrous degree. It’s fraying my nerves, so I hate to think what it’s doing to poor Deirdre.’
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘My parents are going to stay with Deirdre for a while, and help her sort things out. It will be good for all of them.’
‘Do you know if she plans to stay in the house, or will she sell it and move into something smaller?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably still a bit soon to ask her about that.’
‘True.’ Dottie and he walked out into the bright sunshine. Her mood seemed to lift as soon as she felt the sun’s warmth on her. The church had been so cold and dark. She felt as though she was coming to life after a long sleep. ‘And how are you, Gervase?’
‘I’m a mess,’ he said frankly. ‘But I’m going to get to the bottom of this, if it’s the last thing I do. I owe him that at least, my little brother.’
Dottie shook her head, frustrated. She knew it. ‘You must leave it to the inspector. You’re too close. You can’t get involved in this.’
