by Caron Allan
He glared at her, but undaunted she continued. ‘Surely you realise that if Reggie was killed by someone he knows, why, then it’s someone you are likely to know too! You must leave it to the inspector to investigate.’
‘He’s taking too long. I need to know—I need...’ His voice broke and he turned away for a minute. When he turned back, he kissed her cheek again and said simply, ‘See you later, dear.’ He turned back a second time, and called, his voice anxious, ‘You won’t go home to London without telling me?’
She smiled. ‘Of course not.’ He nodded, content with that, and strode off.
When he arrived later, though, it was with his parents. Penny and Miranda dominated the conversation as if it were an ordinary social occasion and not a time of great sadness for them. They stayed a bare hour. Dottie went out to the car with Gervase to see them off, in the hope of some moments alone with him. But his mother called to him. Although she spared a smile for Dottie, it didn’t reach her eyes. Dottie felt Gervase’s mother didn’t like her, but told herself it might just be that she was in mourning. But there was no time for talking together, no time for a kiss. He didn’t even wave as he drove them away.
On Monday morning, Deirdre returned to her own home, and Dottie went with her just so that she wouldn’t be going into the house alone. The plan was that Edwin and Evangeline Parfitt would join her around mid-morning; as soon as she saw that Deirdre was unpacked and settled, Dottie would return to Penny’s.
Deirdre’s maid was there, pale and sorrowful. She kept following Deirdre around, wringing her hands and saying repeatedly, ‘Oh my dear ma’am!’
It was very trying, Dottie thought. Finally, feeling that she couldn’t cope with any more of it, Dottie said to the maid, ‘Please take Mrs Parfitt’s suitcase upstairs and unpack it, and then we’d like some coffee in the morning room.’
The maid seemed glad to be reminded that she had things to do. She hurried off.
Dottie turned to see Deirdre opening the door of the study, about to go in. With trepidation, Dottie followed.
The desk was still there, of course. The blotter had gone—taken away by the police as part of their evidence-gathering, Dottie assumed. The room reeked of death. Deirdre went to open the garden door but it was nailed shut following Gervase’s forced entrance, and several planks had been put across the outside until it was repaired.
Deirdre looked around helplessly and sat down on the arm of a deep leather chair in a corner. She began to cry. Dottie let her weep. There was nothing she could say or do that would lessen the impact. She stood beside Deirdre with her arm about Deirdre’s shoulders and waited. As the crying subsided, Dottie went over to the doors and looked out between the planks.
The maid came in and said, ‘Please Miss, I’ve put the coffee in the morning room, and now I’m taking up the suitcase and I’ll put Mrs Parfitt’s things away. Is there anything else you need before I do that?’
Dottie shook her head, then said, ‘Could you arrange for someone to come out and mend the door tomorrow? And make sure that Mr Parfitt’s study is thoroughly cleaned and aired once Mrs Parfitt goes upstairs to lie down. Mr Parfitt’s parents are coming to stay for a few days, and Mr Parfitt senior may wish to use this room.’
‘Very good, Miss.’
Dottie took Deirdre into the morning room and they sat drinking their coffee. Soon Edwin and Evangeline would be here. Dottie hadn’t had a chance to observe them together, so she didn’t know whether or not Deirdre got on well with her in-laws. Surely, they would be united in grief and support one another? That said, Dottie wasn’t sure how much comfort she might derive from them, if she were in Deirdre’s place.
They arrived a little sooner than expected. Again, Dottie felt that they showed no pleasure in seeing her, and although she tried to make allowances for the circumstances, she felt they had taken against her. She stayed only long enough for the impatient, irritable Edwin to carry all their luggage upstairs, and for the quiet, competent Evangeline to coax Deirdre to go up to her room to rest. Then the Parfitt’s driver took Dottie back to Penny’s.
On the way there, Dottie leaned back against the seat and tried to block everything out. She dreaded getting back and finding Penny still indulging in hysterics. It was all too much.
Fortune smiled on Dottie. Miranda was playing soft little piano pieces in the morning room, and Penny was in her room lying down: the house was, for the first time since her visit began, an oasis of peace. Dottie decided to have a bath. It was rather an odd time of day, but she wanted to be able to go in, lock the door, and be alone.
She ran the water, adding just a little cold so that the temperature was slightly too hot: just the way she liked it. She threw in a good handful of scented crystals and gave them a swish round in the water. She got in, and within a minute, she was asleep.
She awoke to find the water cold and that she had a crick in her neck. Getting out and scrubbing herself briskly with the towel, she wondered how Gervase was getting on and whether he was back in his office today. She hoped he would visit that evening—it felt like forever since she had been in his arms. She was worried about him. In addition she wanted to know how the police were getting on with finding his brother’s killer.
Dottie was dressed and towelling her hair dry in her room when she heard the phone ring. After several rings Dottie thought she had better go down and answer it. As she ran down the stairs, she wondered what Margaret was up to. She was beginning to feel that she was the only one who ever answered the wretched machine.
Somewhat breathlessly, Dottie snatched up the receiver, afraid the caller would grow impatient and ring off.
‘Hello?’ was all she had time to say.
‘Well I have to say, Miss Scott, it really is too bad of you!’ began the woman at the other end. Dottie had no idea what she was talking about.
‘I’m sorry, this is not Miss Scott speaking. My name is Miss Manderson,’ she interrupted, ‘I’m a guest of Mrs Parfitt. Can I help you at all?’
The caller caught her breath and apologised with embarrassed haste. ‘Miss Benson here. Simon’s teacher, you know. At the school in the village. I know he is perfectly capable of coming home on his own, but Miss Scott did promise to come and see me today, so naturally the child stayed here to be collected. But she’s half an hour late! Really, I can’t hang on any longer. I shall send Simon home. He has a note for his mother; please remind him to give it to her.’
‘Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry...’
The teacher said goodbye and hung up. Dottie, frowning in puzzlement, went into the kitchen.
There was no one there. The stove was cold, the lights were off, the room was empty. Where was Margaret?
Dottie went upstairs and knocked on Penny’s door. Nothing happened. She knocked again. Now there was a sleepy murmur which Dottie chose to take as permission to enter. She went in to find the room gloomy in spite of the bright sunny day. Penny had the covers pulled up to her chin. Surely, in this heat, she was sweltering under all those layers, Dottie thought.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Penny. There was just a phone call for Margaret from the school teacher. She was expecting Margaret to come and see her, but Margaret hasn’t turned up. Do you know where she is at all? I can’t seem to find her.’
‘Margaret is receiving calls on my telephone? How dare she!’ Penny said crossly. ‘I’ll soon put a stop to that. What a cheek!’
Dottie repressed a sigh. As usual the focus of Penny’s thoughts was Penny herself. ‘Yes, it is rather. Er, but about what the teacher said... would Margaret have gone somewhere, do you think?’ She felt rather helpless. Was it odd that Margaret wasn’t there? Perhaps it wasn’t.
‘How should I know? She could be in her room, I suppose.’
‘Ah yes, I’ll check,’ Dottie said, feeling foolish for not having thought of that sooner. Perhaps Margaret had been taken ill, or—or she could even be doing some work up there. Dottie hurried across the upstairs hall, through the door a
nd onto the back stairs that took her up to the next floor, and the attics.
She found a little dark bathroom, and a sitting room not much bigger, and twice as gloomy. Dottie shuddered. She had never seen a house so full of dreary dark rooms as this. The next room appeared to belong to Simon—there were some toy cars and a model ship on a shelf beside the bed, with a bear and a book of adventure stories on the counterpane waiting for the boy to come home. There was an adjoining door, and when Dottie tapped on the panel and looked round the door, she saw it was another bedroom, clearly that of Margaret herself. There was no one there.
Chapter Seventeen
DOTTIE SET THE PLATE of mashed potatoes, diced carrots, and fishcakes in front of Simon, relieved she’d only had to reheat the fishcakes and not make them from scratch.
Simon said a clear, polite, ‘Thank you,’ and began to eat, neatly and with precision. His actions reminded Dottie forcibly of Reggie’s dancing. Was it possible...? Or was she seeing a ghost of the overall Parfitt pattern, a collection of general attributes rather than Reggie’s own specific qualities?
‘It’s all in my head,’ she murmured. Simon gave her a questioning look. She smiled at him. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she said. But the fact that she’d said these words out loud made her feel even more uncomfortable about Margaret’s absence. Simon had been home for almost two hours now, and still there was no word from Margaret. The kitchen was silent with the lack of her. Her cigarettes and a box of matches sat on the dresser beside the table, alongside a pair of Simon’s socks she’d been darning, the needle still attached and sticking up from the top of one. Her slippers were pushed tidily under the chair where she sat when she was taking a break from cooking or cleaning.
The little boy stoically ate all his food, put his knife and fork together, slid out of his seat and carried the plate across to place it in the sink. He came back and sat down again. His ‘Very nice thank you,’ brought smarting tears to Dottie’s eyes and she had to turn away. She concentrated on dessert.
‘Tinned fruit and cream, or apple pie and custard?’
‘Apple pie please, and please may I have lots and lots and lots of custard?’
She couldn’t help laughing at his cheeky face. ‘You may!’ She prepared this for him and accompanied it with a glass of milk. That should hold him for a bit. As Simon ate, Dottie went in search of Penny.
She found her sitting at her dressing table, fussing over her nails. Miranda was sprawled across the bed, reading a magazine.
‘Penny,’ Dottie began, and in the mirror she saw Penny’s frown hastily hidden. A bright false smile took its place, and she made a show of setting down her nail-file and buffer and turning to face Dottie.
‘Yes, Dottie dear?’ Her voice held just the right amount of mild vexation, as if she were constantly interrupted by trivialities and was endeavouring to remain understanding and patient. Dottie felt the role of demanding house-guest had fallen on her. But Dottie had more important things to worry about.
‘I’m worried about Margaret. Where is she, and what am I to tell Simon?’
Penny’s forehead furrowed delicately. Dottie knew exactly what Penny was going to say. It was as though she was in a three-act play. Every line had been studied and absorbed, every spontaneous gesture carefully practised in advance of need.
‘Who is Simon, dear?’ Her tone was patronising, as if he was some imaginary friend Dottie had invented. In the mirror, Penny exchanged a sly glance with her sister, who hid a snigger.
Through gritted teeth, Dottie said, ‘Simon is Margaret’s little boy. He’s been living here for three years. Surely you’ve noticed?’
Penny didn’t like that at all. She snapped back to her mirror and began banging about with brushes and potions. She applied lipstick to her top lip before she replied, ‘Don’t forget to whom you’re talking, young lady. I believe you are still a guest in my home.’
Dottie took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing. She softened her tone. ‘You’re quite right, Penny, I forgot myself. I’m very sorry. I—I’m just so worried about Margaret.’
‘She’ll come back when she’s ready. It’s not the first time. I should think the child’s used to it by now.’
‘Really? But she seems such a devoted...’
‘Oh! Well, you’ve only just met her, haven’t you? I’ve known her since childhood. She’s not terribly reliable, I’m afraid. Never has been.’
‘Are you sure we can’t call someone—or—perhaps—it might just be worth ringing the hospital, or the police, or—er...’
‘Certainly not! I’m not running up a large telephone bill because of her! Absolutely not. Tell the child to go to bed. I’m sure she’ll be back in the morning. Now I’d like to finish getting ready for dinner, if you don’t mind. Just because we have no guests tonight doesn’t mean we lower our standards.’
Dottie almost dropped a curtsey as she left.
Returning to the kitchen, Dottie glanced at the clock. Half past six. It was a little early to send Simon to bed. But he had finished his pudding and his milk. The bowl, spoon and glass were now in the sink with his plate, knife and fork.
‘Perhaps Mummy will be back late?’ he suggested.
‘Yes,’ Dottie said, ‘I think she may well have been delayed.’
‘Shall I do my homework?’
Dottie’s heart melted a little bit more. ‘Yes, Simon, dear, I think that’s an excellent idea. Do you need any help? Because if it’s arithmetic, I’m not sure I’ll be much use to you.’
‘It’s Latin and history,’ he told her. They both wrinkled their noses.
‘I detested Latin when I was at school,’ Dottie said. He grinned at her.
‘Everyone does. Mummy says it’s important for when I go to my new prep school. But I’d much rather learn a bit more about dinosaurs.’
‘Me too!’ Dottie said. She pulled out a chair, and with a theatrical sigh, reached for his Latin primer.
An hour later and she’d left him in bed reading a book about dinosaurs. There was still no sign of Margaret, nor any message from her, and Dottie was worried sick. In the morning, if Margaret was still absent, Dottie promised herself she would call the police, regardless of Penny’s objections.
They ate a light dinner prepared by Dottie and received with little gratitude by Penny and Miranda. As Dottie took her seat at the table, she couldn’t help feeling that Penny seemed slightly affronted by her presence. Have I simply become the new Margaret, Dottie wondered. Certainly, neither Penny nor her sister had done anything to help with the meal, nor even seemed capable of thinking about practical matters. They just seemed to think it entirely their due to sit at leisure whilst Penny’s guest cooked, cleaned and tidied. And like an idiot, Dottie reminded herself, I did it all. And to think Penny spoke of letting Margaret go. What on earth does she think she will do without her?
Thinking of Margaret gave Dottie a horrid lurching sensation in her stomach. Clearly Penny’s plan to dismiss Margaret would not now happen. Even though it had only been a few hours since Margaret had gone, Dottie was as certain as she could be that Margaret would not be returning. Whether by accident or design, Dottie was convinced Margaret was gone forever.
Abruptly, Dottie said, ‘I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to telephone Gervase. I shall, of course, pay for the call.’ She got to her feet.
Penny, caught with a mouthful of meat and gravy, could only shrug her shoulders. Miranda just stared at her.
Dottie took that for permission and hurried to the phone in the hall, but then of course, it struck her she didn’t know his number. There was a slim notebook on the shelf above the telephone table, and it was open at the page of surnames beginning with P. Dottie found Gervase’s number straight away. She rang, and listened to the clicks before the ringing of the bell at the other end. Thank goodness this locale was more up-to-date than most, with direct dialling there was no need to go through the operator and thus incur delays.
Michaels answered.
Dottie gave her name and asked to speak with Gervase urgently. But you couldn’t hurry a butler and it took easily three minutes before she heard footsteps echoing across the polished wooden floor of Gervase’s lovely hall, then a second later, his voice, warm but concerned, spoke in her ear.
‘Dottie? Is that you, dear?’
‘Oh Gervase!’ Suddenly she felt overwhelmed, and she burst into tears.
When she failed to compose herself after a few moments, Gervase made a decision. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes. Hang on, Dearest.’
And he slammed down the phone.
The line went dead. Dottie was left fishing in her sleeve for a handkerchief, still holding the silent receiver in her hand. Hiccupping, she returned to the dining room.
‘What on earth is the matter, child?’ Penny demanded sharply. Her plate, like Miranda’s was empty. Obviously they were not so concerned about Margaret that it spoiled their appetites.
Dottie resumed her seat at the table. She wiped her eyes for the second time and blew her nose.
‘It’s nothing really, I-I just got upset when I spoke to Gervase. He’s on his way over.’
‘He’s got enough to deal with, what with Reggie!’ Miranda said with a laugh of disbelief.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Dottie, really!’ Penny added, ‘This is simply ridiculous. You can’t expect an important man like Gervase to run all over the place after a silly little girl. Have some control, do!’
Dottie thought that was a bit rich after the fuss Penny seemed to make about the least little thing, and the way she seemed to think Gervase lived only to do her bidding. But then, Dottie thought, Penny was not the kind of person to see someone else’s point of view, and her own feelings were always the most important to her. But Dottie said nothing, mainly because she was horribly afraid that there was more than a grain of truth in what they had just said. If only she had had more control, she could have just asked him what she should do, and Gervase wouldn’t have had to hurry away from his dinner, and she wouldn’t have added to the burden of worry he already had. Dottie cleared the table and went to wash the dishes.
