by Caron Allan
Penny slammed the door behind him, and Dottie dreaded to think how she would behave when Dottie returned. Hopefully she’d have taken to her bed again. Dottie got into the car, Gervase leaned across to kiss her on the mouth, and they set off.
He halted the car beside a lake, and they sat and watched the sun setting behind the trees, spilling oranges and pinks across the rippling water.
Gervase seemed inclined to be amorous, but Dottie wanted to talk about Margaret. She pushed him away.
‘Behave yourself,’ and laughed at the way he rolled his eyes in mock irritation. But he settled beside her, an arm about her shoulders, his fingers playing with her hair as she vented her anxiety.
‘I’m so worried about Margaret. What if she doesn’t come back? What will happen to Simon? We didn’t have a chance to really get to know each other,’ Dottie said, ‘Although she did say that she had been left money by Artie in his will and was going to use it to move away and buy a house, and put Simon into a good school.’
‘Ah. Interesting,’ he said.
She was frustrated that he didn’t say more. ‘I know it’s none of my business but why did Artie leave money away from his wife to Margaret? I mean, it’s not as though he was Simon’s father, even though Penny seems to believe he was. Which is why she resented their presence in the house so much.’
‘Hmm,’ was all he said. She felt like thumping him. Or getting hold of him and shaking him until he said something useful. Or honest.
This prompted her to take a deep breath and making a decision on the spur of the moment, she said, ‘I feel it’s time for me to go home. I’ve already been here for a week longer than I intended, and to be frank, Penny and I do not really see eye to eye, and Miranda seems to egg Penny on all the time. Together they are unbearable. Especially since Margaret...’
‘I know they’ve been taking advantage of your good nature, dear, you really should put your foot down. I’ve told Penny to get the daily woman in for more hours.’
‘Winnie Bains? Yes, I’ve already asked her if she could help out a bit more, and she’s perfectly willing, but Penny wasn’t at all happy about that, she said I had acted out of turn. And in any case, it’s just easier to get on with things. Miranda just sits there laughing at everyone like we’re only there to entertain her. And Penny makes such a song and dance about the simplest things, and—sorry, of course I’m completely forgetting they are dear friends of yours...’
‘Not so dear that I’m blind to their faults. Neither of them have ever been the sort to set to in a crisis, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, Penny talked last week about getting rid of Margaret.’ It was a relief for Dottie to vent her feelings. ‘Yet she seems incapable of doing the least little thing for herself. I don’t know how she thinks she’ll manage. And as for poor little Simon—how can she pretend she doesn’t even know his name! What is to become of him, I’d like to know. No one seems to give him a moment’s thought. I’m the one who’s been getting his meals, getting him to bed, helping him with his schoolwork. When is someone going to give him a home, or—or the care he needs, or...’ And suddenly she was weeping. It wasn’t about Penny, or the housework. It was all about a small boy seemingly without a home or loved ones.
Gervase took the opportunity to sweep her into his arms and kiss her, assuring her in the most vigorous language that he would make certain Simon was looked after, and soon. It was at least a partial consolation.
There was a banging on the car windscreen. They shot apart. A torch shone in at them through the glass. Dottie was astonished to find it had grown dark as they had talked and kissed; the sunset had faded completely into night. Gervase wound down the window.
‘What is it?’ he demanded in his rather superior tone.
‘Come on, hop it! We don’t want no courting couples round here. I’ll do the two of you for indecent behaviour!’
Dottie now caught sight of the silver buttons on his tunic, and the tall helmet that bent into view as he spoke to Gervase. She would have laughed, but Gervase seemed quite angry.
‘Do you know who I am?’
Dottie felt a dropping sensation inside. She detested men who said that kind of thing. She was surprised at him but felt she had known all along he was inclined to a certain vanity about his position.
The policeman admitted he didn’t know Gervase at all, adding, ‘And I don’t care if you’re the bleedin’ chief constable, there’s no hanky panky round here! Decent folks don’t behave this way.’
‘I’m Gervase Parfitt. If not exactly the chief constable, I am at least the assistant chief constable,’ said Gervase, in the haughtiest voice Dottie had ever heard. ‘And, not that it’s any of your concern, there’s no ‘hanky panky’ as you put it going on here. My fiancée was upset and I was comforting her during a private discussion. Any more of your insubordination, my man, and you’ll be out on your ear. I hope I’ve made myself clear?’
‘Oh—er—yes indeed. Terribly sorry, sir. I meant no offense, it was just a misunderstanding. We ‘as problems round ‘ere wiv youngsters neckin’ in cars.’ The man’s dismay was unmistakable. He lowered his beam and backed away.
‘Very well, then,’ Gervase said, and snapped his window shut again.
‘You were a bit harsh,’ Dottie pointed out.
‘Nonsense. Damned cheek.’ He set the car in motion. ‘I’ll get you back to Penny’s. I’ll pop in for a little while, cheer her up by having a nightcap.’
‘I can’t believe you told that chap we were engaged, too!’
He shot her an amused look. ‘Pure wishful thinking, Dottie dear.’ He squeezed her hand briefly before turning the car out onto the road again. She couldn’t help smiling at that.
It took Gervase a while to get round Penny and lure her into a smile and a conversation. Dottie was still annoyed with Gervase, and she was certain Penny picked up on this and took it to mean that the romance wasn’t going as well as it should. She alluded once or twice to their supposed ‘tiff’, but neither Dottie nor Gervase felt inclined to satisfy her curiosity about it.
Gervase drank a small brandy, and he and Penny chatted about some show they had seen in the Spring. Miranda listened and joined in the conversation, now laughing and animated with a man in the room to show off to. Dottie went to check on Simon, then made herself a cup of tea. When she came back into the room, Penny said,
‘Oh, by the way, Dottie, dear, I thought you’d be glad to know, I’ve arranged for my daily woman, Mrs—er—?’
‘Mrs Bains?’ Dottie supplied, not taken in for a moment by Penny’s inability to recall the name of the woman who had worked in her house five days a week for almost ten years. Although, strictly speaking, it was of no account to Dottie, as she hoped to be leaving shortly.
‘That’s it, yes! How do you do it, dear? You’re so good at the little details, aren’t you? Anyway, yes Mrs Bains. She’s going to come and stay for a few weeks until things get sorted. I thought that would be the best thing all round.’
‘Oh definitely,’ Dottie said. She was too tired to say more.
Dottie had finally fallen into a deep sleep, after lying awake well into the early hours, unable to shake off her concerns about Margaret, and Simon too. She woke and with a sense of dread for the coming day, she made herself get out of bed and go and have a bath. She was dressed and on her way downstairs when the phone rang. The bell echoed around the hall with its strident demand for attention. Dottie was annoyed that her first reaction was one of fear that the sound would disturb Penny or Miranda. She hurried to the back of the hall, and as she reached for the receiver, suddenly the thought hit her: Margaret.
‘Yes?’
At once a policeman began to talk in her ear, and as she heard what he said, she turned to see Simon, staring round the newel-post at her from the bottom step. She had the brief thought, why isn’t Penny here to help, and could have laughed. Of course, Penny would be in bed, waiting for someone to bring in her morning cup of tea. Once more, Dottie was alone in the s
ituation.
‘Thank you, yes, we’ll be here,’ she said and put the phone down. She looked at Simon again. What on earth did one say? But he knew. He ran across the hall, his feet bare on the tiles.
‘Was that about my mother?’ he asked. He was composed, too composed for a young child. He was so grown-up, Dottie thought. His eyes were deep and troubled and didn’t look away. He would know if she was lying. She had to tell him. She took his hand and led him into the kitchen where it was very slightly warmer. She sat at the table and drew him to her.
‘Yes Simon, I’m afraid it’s very bad news. You’ve got to be very brave, dear.’
His eyes filled with tears. He flung himself into her arms, and said gruffly, ‘Don’t want to be brave.’
‘I know, dear.’ She stroked his hair. What else could she say? She wasn’t sure if she should tell him what the police sergeant had said. Instead she just said, ‘Someone is coming to talk to us shortly, so I’m going to go and get dressed. And I need to let Mrs Parfitt know, oh and Mr Gervase Parfitt should probably be told too. Oh dear.’
She looked at Simon who was standing in front of her now, hunched with his arms folded, tears running down his face. He was only wearing his pyjamas and was shivering. ‘Why’s it so chilly in here?’ she asked. It was easier to focus on practical matters.
‘My mother usually lights the stove early. That makes it warmer.’
‘Of course. Oh Simon!’ She hugged him.
She wanted to send him to put on a dressing gown and slippers, at the very least, but she didn’t want to send him off on his own, not even just upstairs. She quickly lit the stove, and set a kettle on to boil, then taking his hand she guided him upstairs, helped him to get dressed and then left him in the bathroom whilst she ran to pull on a skirt and blouse, struggling with her stockings in her hurry, then she shoved her feet into slippers and scraped her hair into some kind of order. Simon was waiting outside in the hall. She took his hand and they went back to the kitchen that already felt cosier. She made tea, then left Simon at the table whilst she quickly rang Gervase. He was shocked but he said he would be over right away. She spared a thought for him—was this his second bereavement in a few days?
She went to make tea for Penny and Miranda, placed one tray on top of the other, and two pots and two cups and saucers, milk jugs and sugar bowls on the topmost tray. It made quite a load to carry upstairs, but she wanted to get them up and ready to see the police if necessary.
She heard the police arrive in the hall below, which meant Mrs Bains must have arrived. That was a relief as it meant Dottie could ask Mrs Bains to sit with Simon whilst she explained to Penny and Miranda what had happened without actually knowing many of the details herself, and then came down to speak with the police officers.
When she returned, the policemen were sitting around the kitchen table with cups of tea, chatting comfortably with Simon alone as if it were a purely social visit. There was no sign of Mrs Bains.
‘We let ourselves in,’ the sergeant clarified. ‘And we helped ourselves to a cuppa. Hope you don’t mind.’
It was Sergeant Menzies again, whom Dottie had seen the previous day, along with the inspector she had first met at Reggie’s house. They reminded her a little of Inspector Hardy and Sergeant Maple, in that they seemed to form the perfect double-act and knew each other’s methods and character.
‘Is anyone else in the house?’ the inspector asked, but before Dottie could reply, the sergeant said to him, ‘There’s a Mrs Parfitt. I assume she’s still in bed?’ This last was addressed to Dottie who hastily agreed that Mrs Parfitt hadn’t yet come down, though she was awake and aware of the situation. Dottie added that Mrs Parfitt’s sister, Mrs Parkes, was also staying in the house.
‘While you attend to everything, I see,’ the sergeant said. Dottie felt herself blushing.
‘Well, Mrs Bains, the daily woman doesn’t come in until nine o’clock, and so I am happy to do a few things. But she is coming to stay in the house for a while, to help out.’
They asked her a few more questions about the staff situation and enquired whether Mrs Parfitt was in delicate health.
‘Erm,’ Dottie began, torn between conventional tact and the desire to be truthful without making Penny sound bad. ‘Mrs Parfitt was recently widowed, so she is still recovering from her grief. Mr Parfitt was quite a young man and died suddenly.’ That sounded all right, she thought, and fairly tactful. Hopefully it would cover a fair amount. She didn’t like that the sergeant was writing it all down in his notebook, but that might be purely procedural.
As soon as Winnie Bains arrived, Dottie left her to give Simon his breakfast, and she took the policemen into the dining room where they could sit at the big table in there to make their notes.
‘So you’ve found Margaret Scott, then?’ Dottie said. She already knew this was the case, but she struggled to find a way to start the conversation. She was clasping her hands tight.
The inspector nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid Miss Scott’s body was found by a gentleman out walking his dog very early this morning. She was floating in a pond half a mile from here. In the light of the note you found the day before yesterday, we are certain she killed herself in a fit of remorse following the murder of Reginald Parfitt.’
Dottie stared. She began to shake her head. ‘No, no! That can’t be right. I’m sure she would never...’
‘Well it seems clear enough to me,’ said the inspector, and with a slight edge to his voice, added, ‘Although if your own investigation has turned up any evidence, I’m sure I’d love to have it.’
‘My own...?’ Too late she realised he was being sarcastic. She shook her head again. ‘I just don’t think it was in her nature to do something like that.’
He snorted. ‘So you’re a student of human nature too, are you, Miss? Well I’m sorry to say that humans don’t always react the way you expect. And anyone can lash out in a fit of anger.’
She was about to respond but there was a knock at the door. She hoped to God it was Gervase.
It was, and if he was grief-stricken, he hid it behind his authority which he proceeded to wield. He overbore the inspector’s arguments about Margaret having killed herself, using the arguments Dottie had presented to him.
The inspector was disinclined to accept them at first, but Gervase’s very rank meant he was at least obliged to listen. The sergeant wrote everything down and looked as if he was enjoying the tense exchange. There was no need for Dottie to say anything, she just watched and listened to the two men.
‘Well sir, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that people, especially women, don’t always act in a predictable manner as you might say. And from what I hear, she wasn’t no better than she should be, so that’s probably why she didn’t take no undergarments.’
Gervase expressed his disgust at the inspector’s comments. The inspector, somewhat ruffled but determined to stick to his guns, said, ‘The other thing is, the woman’s bedroom was a crime scene, so there’s no call to be allowing civilians,’ and here he nodded at Dottie, ‘to walk all over the place.’
‘A crime scene?’ Gervase’s voice was clipped and cold.
‘Yes sir.’
‘Then why wasn’t the room sealed or placed under police guard?’
The inspector floundered slightly. ‘Well, I wasn’t able to get the men. But I gave orders no one was to go in there, and you would have known that, sir, begging your pardon. For all I know there could have been fingerprints that are now smudged and unusable.’
‘Were you intending to fingerprint the room?’
‘Well, I—I hadn’t made up my mind about that. I was waiting to speak to my chief super.’
‘I think you’d already made up your mind that Miss Scott had run off without her child and you didn’t care about the crime scene.’
‘No indeed, sir, I was keeping an open mind.’
‘Until her body turned up. Then you had her pegged as a depressive, a murderer, and a suic
ide case that warranted no further police time.’
‘It was only four hours ago,’ the inspector protested. He held up a hand. ‘Very well. I will look into it.’
‘I want a post mortem carried out. I want to know if she was alive when she went into the water,’ Gervase insisted.
‘Well that whack on the side of her head probably knocked her out first,’ commented the sergeant without looking up from his notebook.
That night, Dottie went back through the case-file of Richard Dawlish and reread everything. She had some ideas. They seemed too far-fetched. Yet they were insistent. Little details crowded her brain. She couldn’t seem to push them away. It was as if something clamoured to be let out.
Chapter Twenty
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, quite early, there was a phone call for Dottie. She had slept so deeply after all that had happened that she didn’t even hear the telephone ring. The first thing she knew was Winnie Bains shaking her awake, saying, ‘Beg pardon Miss Dottie, but there’s someone on the machine for you. I didn’t know whether I was to take a message or what.’
It took Dottie a full minute to understand what Winnie was telling her. Older people still feared the telephone as a device from the devil himself. Still dopey with sleep Dottie stumbled out of bed, followed Winnie downstairs, putting on her wrap as she went. She felt a horrid sense of déjà vu as she picked up the receiver.
‘Hello Dottie, it’s Catherine. I heard from Flora that you wanted to speak to me?’
After over five years living in London, the full lilt of Catherine’s Jamaican accent had softened, but she still had a strong contralto that sounded like she was smiling all the time.
‘Oh Catherine! I’m so grateful you called me!’ Dottie made herself comfortable leaning back against the coats. Then she remembered getting wet leaning against one of them several days earlier and she put out her hand to check if it was now dry. It was. She went back to leaning and turned her attention to the conversation. She asked Catherine how she was and what she was doing with her life. But she was all too aware of the cost of the telephone bill, and that Catherine, as the wife of a minister, would have little money available for such luxuries. She came to the reason for wanting to speak to Catherine.
