An Afternoon to Kill

by Shelley Smith

  ‘He was gazing at the portrait of Mama, looking very sweet and audacious in a blue sash with her fair hair frizzed out like Lucy’s.

  ‘“Ah,” he said, turning to me. “The first Mrs Sheridan, and your mother, I presume, madam?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to be obliged to intrude on your private grief at such a moment, but believe me, I have no choice in the matter. I can promise you not to keep you long. It is only to ask a few simple questions.”

  ‘“Won’t you sit down?” I said. “What is it you want to know?”

  ‘“In the first place, who last saw her alive?”

  ‘“Gracious, I’ve no idea! Perhaps I did.”

  ‘“What time was that, madam?”

  ‘“I’m afraid I never noticed. After luncheon, when she went upstairs to her room and I went down to see Cook about the picnic we were going on. Two o’clock or a little after, I suppose.”

  ‘“I see. And it was about six o’clock when she was found. Did she usually sit in that secluded corner? Was it a favourite nook of hers?”

  ‘“Yes, she had taken rather a fancy to it, she liked to sit there alone.”

  ‘“And what frame of mind would you judge the deceased lady to have been in latterly?”

  ‘“The same as usual, I think,” I said cautiously.

  ‘“Not in low spirits?”

  ‘This seemed to me a little near the knuckle. I shook my head.

  ‘“You would say, not worried?”

  ‘“I don’t see what she could have had to worry about.”

  ‘“She was apparently quite happy?”

  ‘“Why shouldn’t she be, with her husband just returned?” I parried.

  ‘“Oh? Has Mr Sheridan been away?” he said.

  ‘I could have slapped myself for my carelessness! That’s what came from trying to be too clever. Then I was obliged to tell him that Father had been away in India and Ceylon for half a year and had only returned on Tuesday.

  ‘The policeman looked at me curiously.

  ‘“Mr Sheridan did not mention any of this to me.”

  ‘“Perhaps he did not think it relevant,” I suggested lamely.

  ‘“Not relevant, when his lady dies mysteriously and suddenly directly he comes back?”

  ‘“But — but — ” I stammered, “what could his return have to do with it? Her death was an accident ... Wasn’t it? — Wasn’t it?” I repeated.

  ‘“That will be for the Coroner to decide at the inquest,” he said, quite placidly.

  ‘“The inquest?” I whispered, staring. “Why must there be an inquest?”

  ‘“To discover how and why the deceased person met her death.”

  ‘“But that’s horrible, horrible!” I muttered, squeezing my hands together. My face burned at the thought of the scandal. Was there no way of stopping it, I begged? If I lost my composure, it was at the sudden realisation that Papa would learn, and in the most horrible way possible, under the avid gaze of the public, of his dead wife’s infidelity.

  ‘The policeman hastened to assure me that it would all be quite straightforward, nothing to worry about.

  ‘“It won’t seem like nothing, madam, to a young lady with your presence of mind,” he said. “Really remarkable how you took a hold of yourself straight after coming upon your dead stepmother like that. I wouldn’t care for a daughter of mine to see such a shocking sight. And it being, in a manner of speaking, a near relative, makes it worse of course.” He gave me a birdlike glance and added: “People laugh at the idea of having women in the police force, but I fancy that if we could count on ladies like you we might find it very advantageous.”’

  Mr Jones was frowning in his corner.

  ‘Did you really imagine Sophia had died by accident?’ he asked.

  Miss Hine gave him a long considering stare, and at last, choosing her words with care, said:

  ‘It was what I wanted to think.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FROM ‘THE KILL’ TO ‘A VIEW’

  ‘The inquest was held on Saturday afternoon in the village schoolroom with its wooden forms and deal desks grained and varnished a hideous yellow to imitate oak. The place smelt of hot varnish and dust,’ said Miss Hine reminiscently.

  ‘After the jurymen had viewed the body, the Coroner began calling the witnesses. Beulah was the first, her smug little suety face, finished off with a tight round buttonhole of a mouth, shiny with importance under a toque apparently constructed from glistening black Pontefract Cakes.

  ‘She said the last time she had seen her mistress was when she was airing the rooms, as was the custom, for ten minutes or so in the middle of the day if it was fine. As she crossed the hall she had seen Mrs Sheridan come downstairs and go out into the garden and across the lawn to where she always sat to take the air. That would have been about three o’clock, as near as she could say.

  ‘“Did she speak to you?” asked the Coroner.

  ‘“She didn’t see me.”

  ‘“Did you see her alive again?”

  ‘“Naow,” said Beulah with her pretty Essex accent.

  ‘“Then we may assume that you were the last person known to have seen her alive?”

  ‘“Naow,” said Beulah, enjoying herself primly.

  ‘“Who saw her after that?”

  ‘“The young man must ’uv.”

  ‘“What young man?”

  ‘“I don’t know ’is nime.”

  ‘“Where did you see him?”

  ‘“’E come to the ’ouse. ’E said ’e wanted to see the Master, but when I arst for ’is nime ’e wooden’ give it. ’E was saucy. When I tole ’im the Master wooden’ see hanyone without they give their nime ’e wrote somethin’ daown on a bitter piper and put it hinside a honvelope for me to tike to ’im. But the Master wooden’ see ’im even then. ’E was ever so put out.”

  ‘“Who was, the young man?”

  ‘“Naow, the Master. ’E tore the piper up ever so small an’ looked proper upset. The young man looked real wild when I tole ’im, sour enough to turn the milk. Ooh, I thought, I wooden’ like to get the wrong side of yew!”

  ‘“What happened then?”

  ‘“’E arst to see Mrs Sheridan. I said she was in the garden, but before I ’ad time to go an’ arse if she would see ’im, ’e said not to bother, ’e’d fine ’er ’imself, an’ ’e run off before I ’ad a chance to do a thing.”

  ‘“What did you do then?”

  ‘“Went inside and shut the door.”

  ‘Papa was called next and was asked about the mysterious young man. He said it was not anyone he knew, nor anyone he wished to see, and the name meant nothing to him. While he was away a lot of business had accumulated for him to attend to, which was why he had spent yesterday in his study and except for luncheon had not come out until the late afternoon when his letters were ready for the post. He had gone then to look for his wife. He described finding her in the garden, in bald uninflected sentences, struggling the while to keep his composure. Which indeed he almost lost when the Coroner asked him if he and his wife were on good terms.

  ‘“The best of terms,” he said, looking very white.

  ‘“I believe you have been abroad?”

  ‘“Yes. For seven months,” said Papa.

  ‘After that I was questioned, but I was only expected to confirm Papa’s testimony, and describe how I had spent my day. Then came a plump good-natured young woman, like a farmer’s daughter, with nice red cheeks and golden curls more natural than nature, and an absurdly magnificent hat.

  ‘“What is your name?” said the Coroner.

  ‘“Law!” she said good-humouredly. “You know me. I’m Polly Snoakes, barmaid at The Shepperton Horse.”

  ‘The Shepperton Horse was the only hostelry in the village. I could not imagine what she could possibly have to do with Sophia’s death, but it was about the mysterio
us “caller” that she was asked to tell. It appears that he had arrived at The Shepperton Horse on the Thursday evening, saying he wanted to stay for a couple of nights. He gave his name as Dunstable. He spent most of his time in the saloon talking about Canada or asking questions about the village and in particular the people who lived at The Grange, but was inclined to be archly mysterious about himself. Polly Snoakes took him for a “commercial”. Friday afternoon he came downstairs looking quite spruced-up and told her he was going to try his luck. She never saw him again. And though he “skipped” without paying for his lodging, he must have come back to the inn because his traps were gone.

  ‘Strangers were so rare in our village that there was not much doubt about it being the same person as the one who had called at our house on the afternoon in question. I could not but think it odd. I stole a glance at Papa but his face was carefully expressionless.

  ‘The next witness of importance was Dr Scott who declared he had performed the autopsy on the deceased. I was surprised to hear him describe her as a woman about thirty years old, for we had none of us doubted it when she said she was twenty-four. Once I should have been scornful to have found her in a lie, now it only seemed rather pathetic.

  ‘Dr Scott said:

  ‘“The deceased was in a normally healthy condition of pregnancy, at the beginning of the fourth month.”

  ‘I dared not look at Papa. I did not need to. I had secretly taken his hand in mine between the chairs, and at these words of the doctor’s it had suddenly become slippery with sweat. The hot schoolroom rustled horribly with whispers.

  ‘The Coroner coughed uneasily.

  ‘“Is this relevant, doctor?”

  ‘“That is for you to judge, sir, I can merely report on my findings at the examination.”

  ‘“We are here to learn how the deceased met her death and any facts that strictly bear on the matter are naturally necessary to the verdict. You must not waste the time of the Court with irrelevant private matters nor pain the deceased’s family with idle slanders. If it is relevant we must hear it, however unpleasant.”

  ‘“The deceased died of cyanide poisoning,” said the doctor tartly. “Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what facts are relevant to that.”

  ‘The Coroner directed him to continue.’

  ‘“Death,” said Dr Scott, “would have been instantaneous. And had taken place within one to three hours before I was sent for, for rigor mortis had not set in. Cyanide of potassium is the crystalline form of prussic acid and is a deadly poison.”

  ‘One of the jurymen asked if it would be possible to take it by mistake for something else.

  ‘“I mean,” he said, “could one use it in error for some other substance such as sugar, for example?”

  ‘“If one were not paying attention to what one was doing and the poison was in some easily accessible place, it would not be beyond the bounds of possibility,” the doctor conceded. “But cyanide of potassium is hardly the sort of thing one would keep in the store-cupboard or the larder.”

  ‘“Unless it were put there on purpose,” muttered the juryman.

  ‘“It would be as well to make it clear that it is by no means easy for the layman to procure. To obtain it from a retail chemist one must show good reason for requiring it, and one would also be obliged to sign the Poison Register,” the doctor said firmly.

  ‘Nothing else of great interest was brought out. They were clearly unable to determine whether the poison was self-administered deliberately or by accident. And if by accident, how had it come to be in her possession?

  ‘The Coroner therefore presently adjourned the inquest so that further enquiries could be made to discover how and by whom the poison was procured.

  ‘The next few days were dreadful. I think they were the most uncomfortable days of my life. Papa shut himself away in his room and would see no one — no one at all. Trays were left untouched outside his door. If it had not been that he could be heard from time to time pacing the floor we should not have known if he was alive or dead.

  ‘Occasionally visitors came to the door with piously doleful faces in shocking contrast with their avid eyes. Or if one of us ventured out for a breath of different air we could feel their faces watching us all along the street like sunflowers. Otherwise there was nothing whatever to do but sit idly all day in the darkened rooms. At least we could claim the respect due to a house of mourning. Yet there was nothing to fill those empty interminable hours but the inevitable uncomfortable, repetitious wondering about the dead woman and what had happened and how it had happened and what was to happen next. It was horrible. And all the time policemen were coming in and out of the house informally on their own silent business. Or, casually entering a room, one would chance upon a policeman quietly turning over the contents of a cupboard or private drawer. You can have no idea of the invasions a violent death can inflict on one’s personal life. And one has to bear it. It does not require much imagination to see how this ceaseless polite spying presses on the nerves. The most guiltless feel painfully exposed at having all their trivial precious little secrets laid naked to the gaze of a common stranger. And one dare not lose one’s temper, one dare not be driven to a scream; one knows in advance how sickeningly their apologies for “inconveniencing” one disclose underneath their stolid determination to get on with the job.

  ‘And then there was the questioning. A policeman would politely ask to be spared a few minutes of one’s time (as though one could offer the excuse of having anything else to do with one’s time!) and then ask two or three unimportant questions, the significance of which one desperately tried to understand.

  ‘One was faced perpetually with the moral problem; to tell what one knew, or, on the other hand, to try and hide everything. For, after all, was anything to be gained by learning the truth? What truth had already been uncovered had only caused irreparable damage, what possible good could come from further disclosures?

  ‘So, to begin with, I kept the key to Sophia’s little private drawer (which I had myself locked before ever the policemen came to the house — less for fear of them than to protect Papa) where I knew she kept all the little boxes and bottles she brought back from her expeditions to the various chemists she visited. But I could not hope to keep it secret for long. The police would not hesitate to force the little drawer or find a master key to fit it. Alternatively, if I removed the medicines I would need to be very sure of what I was about, for it would never do to produce them later if it should become necessary. Eventually I went to Mr Pierce and gave him the key which I said I had come across by chance in a little Battersea box.

  ‘I said, “Could she not have procured the — that poison herself?”

  ‘“With the intention of killing herself, you mean?” he asked.

  ‘“Well, no, not exactly,” I said. “I have heard that sometimes people die by accident through taking too much of a medicine that has a dangerous amount of poison in it. It would be safe enough if no more than the prescribed dose were taken, but you know some people imagine that if they take twice as much medicine as they should, it will do them twice as much good. Isn’t it possible that Mrs Sheridan in this way absorbed a deathly amount of the poison?”

  ‘He made no answer, and after a moment I went on:

  ‘“She had been taking a lot of medicine recently, I know. I don’t know what it was or who prescribed for her, but I thought I should tell you that it was not anything she had made-up locally where she was known. That always struck me as a little strange. The coachman will tell you how he used to drive her to one of the nearby towns where she would often go from one chemist to another.” I looked at him. “I thought perhaps one of these medicines might have contained some cyanide of potassium — isn’t that what it’s called?”

  ‘Still he said nothing. He must have been in a “study” for when next I spoke, he jumped and said:

  ‘“Beg pardon, madam, I
was thinking. What you say certainly requires investigation. We shall make enquiries at all the chemists in the district — not easy of course when the enquiry concerns the sale of forbidden nostrums, but we shall do our best. It will at any rate be simple enough to find out from the police analyst if cyanide is a constituent of any abortifacient.”

  ‘I did not understand.

  ‘“Mrs Sheridan was trying to procure herself an abortion, wasn’t she?” He looked at me, and, raising his eyebrows, added very slowly and clearly as to a deaf imbecile: “She was trying to get rid of her unwanted child.”

  ‘I blushed, at a loss what to say; such subjects were strictly unmentionable still at that period. To have heard it from another woman’s lips — say, Sophia’s — would have been embarrassing enough, but for it to be uttered by someone of the opposite sex and a complete stranger at that! It is hardly to be wondered at that words failed me.

  ‘I could feel him watching me.

  ‘“If you didn’t know, madam, I wonder what you thought all these secret medicines were for? You know — ” he hesitated, and with a sharp narrow glance at me continued: “if she was looking for something with which to commit suicide, she did not need to go to all that trouble.”

  ‘I stared at my fingers spread against the green plush tablecloth and waited.

  ‘“Did you know that there was already enough cyanide of potassium in the house to wipe out the entire household?”

  ‘“How could I?” I said through stiff lips. I scrambled my shaking fingers into my lap. “Who — where did you find it?” I asked, for something to say that would weaken the force of his stare.

  ‘“In the cellar.”

  ‘“The cellar! Oh!” I said in relief. “That’s ... ” I broke off.

  ‘“Your brother bought it about a month ago.”

  ‘“Oh, yes, of course,” I said eagerly. “It’s quite all right, you know. It’s what he uses in his photography.”

  ‘“Yes,” said Mr Pierce forbiddingly, and added, “So everyone understands.”

  ‘I said hurriedly:

  ‘“You mean that Mrs Sheridan could have taken it from there, if that was what she wanted?”