The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club lpw-5

by Dorothy L. Sayers

  “He was not bluish about the lips, or breathing very heavily, or anything of that kind?”

  “Well, going up the stairs tried him rather.”

  “Yes, of course it would.”

  “He stood still on the landing for a few minutes to get his breath. I asked him whether he would like to take something, but he said no, he was all right.”

  “Ah! I daresay it would have been a good thing if he had accepted your very wise suggestion, Mrs. Mitcham.”

  “No doubt he knew best,” replied the housekeeper, primly. She considered that in making observations the policeman was stepping out of his sphere.

  “And then you showed him in. Did you witness the meeting between himself and Lady Dormer?”

  “I did not” (emphatically). “Miss Dorland got up and said ‘How do you do, General Fentiman?’ and shook hands with him, and then I left the room, as it was my place to do.”

  “Just so. Was Miss Dorland alone with Lady Dormer when General Fentiman was announced?”

  “Oh, no — the nurse was there.”

  “The nurse — yes, of course. Did Miss Dorland and the nurse stay in the room all the time that the General was there?”

  “No. Miss Dorland came out again in about five minutes and came downstairs. She came to me in the housekeeper’s room, and she looked rather sad. She said, ‘Poor old dears,’—just like that.”

  “Did she say any more?”

  “She said: ‘They quarrelled, Mrs. Mitcham, ages and ages ago, when they were quite young, and they’ve never seen each other since.’ Of course, I was aware of that, having been with her ladyship all these years, and so was Miss Dorland.”

  “I expect it would seem very pitiful to a young lady like Miss Dorland?”

  “No doubt; she is a young lady with feelings; not like some of those you see nowadays.”

  Parker wagged his head sympathetically.

  “And then?”

  “Then Miss Dorland went away again, after a little talk with me, and presently Nellie came in — that’s the housemaid.”

  “How long after was that?”

  “Oh, some time. I had just finished my cup of tea which I have at four o’clock. It would be about half past. She came to ask for some brandy for the General, as he was feeling badly. The spirits are kept in my room, you see, and I have the key.”

  Parker showed nothing of his special interest in this piece of news.

  “Did you see the General when you took the brandy?”

  “I did not take it.” Mrs. Mitcham’s tone implied that fetching and carrying was not part of her duty. “I sent it by Nellie.”

  “I see. So you did not see the General again before he left?”

  “No. Miss Dorland informed me later that he had had a heart attack.”

  “I am very much obliged to you, Mrs. Mitcham. Now I should like just to ask Nellie a few questions.”

  Mrs. Mitcham touched a bell. A fresh-faced pleasant-looking girl appeared in answer.

  “Nellie, this police-officer wants you to give him some information about that time General Fentiman came here. You must tell him what he wants to know, but remember he is busy and don’t start your chattering. You can speak to Nellie here, officer.”

  And she sailed out.

  “A bit stiff, isn’t she?” murmured Parker, in an awestruck whisper.

  “She’s one of the old-fashioned sort, I don’t mind saying,” agreed Nellie with a laugh.

  “She put the wind up me. Now, Nellie—” he took up the old formula, “I hear you were sent to get some brandy for the old gentleman. Who told you about it?”

  “Why, it was like this. After the General had been with Lady Dormer getting on for an hour, the bell rang in her ladyship’s room. It was my business to answer that, so I went up, and Nurse Armstrong put her head out and said, ‘Get me a drop of brandy, Nellie, quick, and ask Miss Dorland to come here. General Fentiman’s rather unwell.’ So I went for the brandy to Mrs. Mitcham, and on the way up with it, I knocked at the studio door where Miss Dorland was.”

  “Where’s that, Nellie?”

  “It’s a big room on the first floor — built over the kitchen. It used to be a billiard-room in the old days, with a glass roof. That’s where Miss Dorland does her painting and messing about with bottles and things, and she uses it as a sitting-room, too.”

  “Messing about with bottles?”

  “Well, chemists’ stuff and things. Ladies have to have their hobbies you know, not having any work to do. It makes a lot to clear up.”

  “I’m sure it does. Well, go on, Nellie — I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Well, I gave Nurse Armstrong’s message, and Miss Dorland said, ‘Oh dear, Nellie,’ she said, ‘poor old gentleman. It’s been too much for him. Give me the brandy, I’ll take it along. And run along and get Dr. Penberthy on the telephone.’ So I gave her the brandy and she took it upstairs.”

  “Half a moment. Did you see her take it upstairs?”

  “Well, no, I don’t think I actually saw her go up — but I thought she did. But I was going down to the telephone, so I didn’t exactly notice.”

  “No — why should you?”

  “I had to look Dr. Penberthy’s number up in the book, of course. There was two numbers, and when I got his private house, they told me he was in Harley Street. While I was trying to get the second number Miss Dorland called over the stairs to me. She said ‘Have you got the doctor, Nellie?’ And I said, ‘No, miss, the doctor’s round in Harley Street.’ And she said, ‘Oh! well, when you get him, say General Fentiman’s had a bad turn and he’s coming round to see him at once.’ So I said, ‘Isn’t the doctor to come here, miss?’ And she said, ‘No; the General’s better now and he says he would rather go round there. Tell William to get a taxi.’ So she went back, and just then I got through to the surgery and said to Dr. Penberthy’s man to expect General Fentiman at once. And then he came downstairs with Miss Dorland and Nurse Armstrong holding on to him, and he looked mortal bad, poor old gentleman. William — the footman, you know, came in then and said he’d got the taxi, and he put General Fentiman into it, and then Miss Dorland and Nurse went upstairs again, and that was the end of it.”

  “I see. How long have you been here, Nellie?”

  “Three years — sir.” The “sir” was a concession to Parker’s nice manners and educated way of speech. “Quite the gentleman,” as Nellie remarked afterwards to Mrs. Mitcham, who replied “No, Nellie — gentlemanlike I will not deny, but a policeman is a person, and I will trouble you to remember it.”

  “Three years? That’s a long time as things go nowadays. Is it a comfortable place?”

  “Not bad. There’s Mrs. Mitcham, of course, but I know how to keep the right side of her. And the old lady — well, she was a real lady in every way.”

  “And Miss Dorland?”

  “Oh, she gives no trouble, except clearing up after her. But she always speaks nicely and says please and thank you. I haven’t any complaints.”

  “Modified rapture,” thought Parker. Apparently Ann Dorland had not the knack of inspiring passionate devotion. “Not a very lively house, is it, for a young girl like yourself?”

  “Dull as ditchwater,” agreed Nellie, frankly. “Miss Dorland would have what they called studio parties sometimes, but not at all smart and nearly all young ladies — artists and suchlike.”

  “And naturally it’s been quieter still since Lady Dormer died. Was Miss Dorland very much distressed at her death?”

  Nellie hesitated. “She was very sorry, of course; her ladyship was the only one she had in the world. And then she was worried with all this lawyer’s business — something about the will, I expect you know, sir?”

  “Yes, I know about that. Worried, was she?”

  “Yes, and that angry — you wouldn’t believe. There was one day Mr. Pritchard came, I remember particular, because I happened to be dusting the hall at the time, you see, and she was speaking that quick and loud I could
n’t help hearing. ‘I’ll fight it for all I’m worth,’ that was what she said and ‘a… something — to defraud’—what would that be now?”

  “Plot?” suggested Parker.

  “No — a—a conspiracy, that’s it. A conspiracy to defraud. And then I didn’t hear any more till Mr. Pritchard came out. and he said to her, ‘Very well, Miss Dorland, we will make an independent inquiry.’ And Miss Dorland looked so eager and angry, I was surprised. But it all seemed to wear off, like. She hasn’t been the same person the last week or so.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, don’t you notice it yourself, sir? She seems so quiet and almost frightened-like. As if she’d had a shock. And she cries a dreadful lot. She didn’t do that at first.”

  “How long has she been so upset?”

  “Well, I think it was when all this dreadful business came out about the poor old gentleman being murdered. It is awful, sir, isn’t it? Do you think you’ll catch the one as did it?”

  “Oh, I expect so,” said Parker, cheerfully. “That came as a shock to Miss Dorland, did it?”

  “Well, I should say so. There was a little bit in the paper, you know, sir, about Sir James Lubbock having found out about the poisoning, and when I called Miss Dorland in the morning I took leave to point it out. I said, ‘That’s a funny thing, miss, isn’t it; about General Fentiman being poisoned,’ just like that, I said. And she said, ‘Poisoned, Nellie? you must be mistaken’. So I showed her the bit in the paper and she looked just dreadful.”

  “Well, well,” said Parker, “it’s a very horrid thing to hear about a person one knows. Anybody would be upset.”

  “Yes, sir; me and Mrs. Mitcham was quite overcome. ‘Poor old gentleman,’ I said, whatever should anybody want to do him in for? He must have gone off his head and made away with himself,’ I said. Do you think that was it, sir?”

  “It’s quite possible, of course,” said Parker, genially.

  “Cut up about his sister — dying like that, don’t you think? That’s what I said to Mrs. Mitcham. But she said a gentleman like General Fentiman wouldn’t make away with himself and leave his affairs in confusion like he did. So I said, ‘Was his affairs in confusion then?’ and she said, ‘They’re not your affairs, Nellie, so you needn’t be discussing them.’ What do you think yourself, sir?”

  “I don’t think anything yet,” aid Parker, “but you have been very helpful. Now, would you kindly run and ask Miss Dorland if she could spare me a few minutes?”

  Ann Dorland received him in the back drawing-room. He thought what an unattractive girl she was, with her sullen manner and gracelessness of form and movement. She sat huddled on one end of the sofa, in a black dress which made the worst of her sallow, blotched complexion. She had certainly been crying, Parker thought, and when she spoke to him, it was curtly, in a voice roughened and hoarse and curiously lifeless.

  “I am sorry to trouble you again,” said Parker, politely.

  “You can’t help yourself, I suppose.” She avoided his eye, and lit a fresh cigarette from the stump of the last.

  “I just want to have any details you can give me about General Fentiman’s visit to his sister. Mrs. Mitcham brought him up to her bedroom, I understand.”

  She gave a sulky nod.

  “You were there?”

  She made no answer.

  “Were you with Lady Dormer?” he insisted, rather more sharply.

  “Yes.”

  “And the nurse was there too?”

  “Yes.”

  She would not help him at all.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I took him up to the bed and said, ‘Auntie, here’s General Fentiman.’”

  “Lady Dormer was conscious, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very weak, of course?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “She said ‘Arthur!’ that’s all. And he said, ‘Felicity!’ And I said, ‘You’d like to be alone,’ and went out.”

  “Leaving the nurse there?”

  “I couldn’t dictate to the nurse. She’d to look after her patient.”

  “Quite so. Did she stay there throughout the interview?”

  “I haven’t the least idea.”

  “Well,” said Parker, patiently, “you can tell me this. When you went in with the brandy, the nurse was in the bedroom then?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Now, about the brandy. Nellie brought that up to you in the studio, she tells me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she come into the studio?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Did she come right into the room, or did she knock at the door and did you come out to her on the landing?”

  This roused the girl a little. “Decent servants don’t knock at doors,” she said, with a contemptuous rudeness; “she came in, of course.”

  “I beg your pardon,” retorted Parker, stung. “I thought she might have knocked at the door of your private room.”

  “No.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Can’t you ask her all these questions?”

  “I have done so. But servants are not always accurate; I should like your corroboration.” Parker had himself in hand again now, and spoke pleasantly.

  “She said that Nurse Armstrong had sent her for some brandy, because General Fentiman was feeling faint, and told her to call me. So I said she had better go and telephone Dr. Penberthy while I took the brandy.”

  All this was muttered hurriedly, and in such a low tone that the detective could hardly catch the words.

  “And then did you take the brandy straight upstairs?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Taking it straight out of Nellie’s hands? Or did she put it down on the table or anywhere?”

  “How the hell should I remember?”

  Parker disliked a swearing woman, but tried hard not to let this prejudice him.

  “You can’t remember — at any rate, you know you went straight on up with it? You didn’t wait to do anything else?”

  She seemed to pull herself together and make an effort to remember.

  “If it’s so important as that, I think I stopped to turn down something that was boiling.”

  “Boiling? On the fire?”

  “On the gas-ring,” she said impatiently.

  “What sort of thing.”

  “Oh, nothing — some stuff.”

  “Tea or cocoa, or something like that, do you mean?”

  “No — some chemical things,” she said, letting the words go reluctantly.

  “Were you making chemical experiments?”

  “Yes — I did a bit — just for fun — a hobby, you know — I don’t do anything at it now. I took up the brandy—”

  Her anxiety to shelve the subject of chemistry seemed to be conquering her reluctance to get on with the story.

  “”You were making chemical experiments — although Lady Dormer was so ill?” said Parker, severely.

  “It was just to occupy my mind,” she muttered.

  “What was the experiment?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You can’t remember at all?”

  “NO!” she almost shouted at him.

  “Never mind. You took the brandy upstairs?”

  “Yes — at least, it isn’t really upstairs. It’s all on the same landing, only there are six steps up to Auntie’s room. Nurse Armstrong met me at the door, and said ‘He’s better now,’ and I went in and saw General Fentiman sitting in a chair, looking very queer and grey. He was behind a screen where Auntie couldn’t see him, or it would have been a great shock to her. Nurse said, ‘I’ve given him his drops and I think a little brandy will put him right again.’ So we gave him the brandy — only a small dose, and after a bit, he got less deathly-looking and seemed to be breathing better. I told him we were sending for the doctor, and he said he’d rather go ro
und to Harley Street. I thought it was rash, but Nurse Armstrong said he seemed really better, and it would be a mistake to worry him into doing what he didn’t want. So I told Nellie to warn the doctor and send William for a taxi. General Fentiman seemed stronger then, so we helped him downstairs and he went off in the taxi.”