Superfluous Women

by Carola Dunn

  He groaned. “I can’t dismiss any of your wild guesses out of hand. You’d better change your clothes if you want any dinner.”

  “Are you insinuating that I’m a mess?”

  “Yes, love. Stating rather than insinuating. Better than being sour-faced but you look exactly as if you’ve been sleeping in that dress. As you have.”

  This Daisy could not deny, so she let the dress be crushed a little more in his arms, and they went down late to dinner.

  Willie, Vera, and Isabel were already on the main course, so Daisy and Alec waved but didn’t join them. The room was packed, but Sally had saved a table for the Fletchers. She brought steaming bowls of soup.

  “Mulligatawny; I hope you like it. Then there’s veal and ham pie or Dover sole. I heard you went and saw Auntie May this afternoon, Mr. Fletcher. Did she snap your head off?”

  Alec smiled at her. “I have a tough head, don’t worry. Daisy, what will you have?”

  “The sole, if it’s really fresh?”

  “I wouldn’t offer it to you, Mrs. Fletcher, if it wasn’t. Come straight from Billingsgate this very morning, on ice all the way.”

  Alec chose the pie. Sally left, and Daisy asked, “What’s she like? Mrs. Hedger? I saw her briefly the first time I went to Cherry Trees. She was just leaving.”

  Typically, he tossed the question back. “What did you think of her?”

  “Morose. Suspicious by nature. That’s just from her looks, and I saw her only in passing. I didn’t chat with her. She didn’t look as if she wanted to be sociable. I can’t comment on what Isabel said about her being hardworking, but I can well believe she’s obstinate.”

  “Obstinate, obdurate, and obstructive. Apparently my accent isn’t posh enough to impress her. She just kept repeating that her job is cleaning, not spying on her ladies nor paying attention to their looks or their comings and goings. She doesn’t hold with ‘carryings-on’ and wouldn’t have stood for anything of the sort.”

  “She doesn’t live in, so that doesn’t mean much. When did she last see Mrs. Gray?”

  “She can’t remember. She pays no attention to her ladies’ comings and goings.”

  “I’d expect her to remember when she was last paid.”

  “I daresay she does, and is just being difficult.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Gray gave her a farewell bonus. She refused to attempt to identify the body, I take it?”

  “Her job is cleaning, and one lady looks much the same as another.”

  Daisy laughed. “Oh dear! What a pity she isn’t one of those chars to whom their employers lives are of all-absorbing interest. What about Vaughn?”

  “He was out of the office all day, showing houses, inspecting houses, dealing with tenants of houses the agency manages.” Alec shrugged. “Whatever house agents do. Underwood made an appointment to see him tomorrow in case we can’t catch him this evening. Miss Chandler hasn’t dropped any further hints about him?”

  “Never a murmur. He must have spent quite some time with Mrs. Gray, going over the house and showing it to prospective buyers. Surely ought to be able to identify her, even if they weren’t having an affair. Are you any closer to proving it’s her body?”

  “Not to proving, but the odds are improving.”

  They had finished the mulligatawny soup, tasty but a bit heavy on the curry powder. Sally brought the main course.

  “Mr. Piper’s just come from the police station, sir, and’d like a word when you can. I’m giving him his supper in the kitchen. He said he’d rather.”

  Was that a touch of pink on her cheeks? Daisy wasn’t sure. The waitress was a very self-possessed young woman.

  “That’s kind of you,” Daisy said. Did the pinkness intensify?

  “Tell Piper I’ll be with him as soon as I’ve finished eating.” Alec sounded morose. “Thanks.”

  “Mr. Whitford says you can use the snug again, sir, if you need to. You’re bringing in a lot of new customers.” Sally whisked off to serve another diner.

  “Were you expecting the rest of the evening off, darling?”

  “Not really. I just hoped to dine in peace. Did I tell you Tom Tring is coming down to Beaconsfield? He may be here already.”

  “But he retired!”

  “He’s missing the job. I happened to run into him at the Yard, chatting with an old crony. He asked after you and the children, of course, then he wanted to know what I was up to. I told him my presence on this case was strictly officially unofficial. Naturally, he immediately guessed that you were involved.”

  “Darling!” she protested.

  “So we hatched a plot whereby he would go undercover even more unofficially—”

  “His missus won’t appreciate that a bit.”

  “She’s coming too, I hope. Just a city couple taking a few days’ holiday in the country. They’ll stay elsewhere and he’ll patronise the public bars, here and elsewhere, keeping his ears open.”

  “I’m sure his pub-crawling will reconcile Mrs. Tring to the business,” Daisy said ironically.

  “We’ll see. If you happen to come face-to-face with her or Tom, pretend you don’t know them.”

  “I’ll try. I suppose there’s no way you can introduce him to Sally’s Auntie May? I bet he’d get her talking.”

  “Probably. That’s a good idea, if I can come up with a way to get them together.”

  “I’ll try, too.”

  Alec’s face expressed severe misgivings. “Daisy, you are absolutely not to—”

  “Oh, I won’t try to bring them together, darling, just think of a way for Tom to do it himself.”

  “If you come up with a suggestion, don’t approach—”

  “You’ve already told me not to show I know them. I presume you have a way to contact him in secret? Signs and passwords? Leave a message in the hollow oak at midnight? This is beginning to sound like a children’s adventure story!”

  Alec grimaced. “For pity’s sake, don’t say that to Underwood.”

  “Does he know about Tom?”

  “No. If Tom comes up with anything useful, I’ll find a way to feed it to the inspector without letting on where it came from. I’d better skip pudding and go and see what Ernie wants. I may very well end up back at the police station, so don’t wait up for me.”

  He rose, bent to kiss Daisy’s cheek, and departed in the direction of the kitchen. Half the people in the room stared at Daisy.

  Sally hurried over to her. “Would you like me to serve your afters in the parlour, madam? Miss Sutcliffe and Miss Chandler are having their coffee in there.”

  “Yes, please, Sally, if it won’t be too much trouble.”

  “Not a bit of it, madam. It’s treacle tart tonight, or plum compote.” In a whisper, she added, “That’s Cook’s fancy name for bottled plums.”

  Daisy opted for the plums and made her way to the ladies’ parlour. A stout elderly woman and a younger one who addressed her as “mama” had taken the sofa by the fire. They displayed no interest in Willie and Isabel, so Daisy guessed they were not locals. She joined her friends.

  “Where’s Vera?” she asked in a low voice.

  “There was a note for her from the rector,” said Isabel. “She went to see him.”

  “By herself?”

  “By herself,” Willie confirmed. “She’s a changed woman.”

  “Thanks to you, Daisy.”

  “Oh, nonsense!”

  “You went with her to see Mr. Turnbull. You went with Mr. Turnbull to see the other teachers.”

  “And now,” Isabel said, “if you’ve recovered from your strenuous day, I’m hoping to persuade you to come with me, to talk Mrs. Hedger into cleaning the cellar.”

  “Me? Why not Willie?”

  “Sally said her aunt is impressed by posh accents.”

  “Willie has a posh accent.”

  “Not any longer. I used to when we were at school but it didn’t survive a few years in Huddersfield.”

  “When I listen for i
t, I can hear odds and ends of Yorkshire creeping in,” Daisy admitted. She didn’t bother to tell them Alec had had no luck at all with Mrs. Hedger. He spoke the King’s English as well as anyone, but her own voice—though not as acutely upper-class as Lucy’s, she hoped—definitely retained the timbre of her upbringing. And she was quite good at putting on her mother’s almost majestic hauteur, when it seemed called for.

  “Never mind,” said Isabel. “You must be shattered after all your running around.”

  “Not really. I had a good snooze before dinner. All the same, couldn’t we put it off till the morning?”

  “I’d rather not. Mrs. Hedger will be off early to whoever she works for Tuesdays, and if I have to go to the Labour Exchange, Mrs. Barnes says it’s better to get there early before the most respectable workers are snapped up. It’s not far. Her cottage is just off the Wycombe Road.”

  “All right, I’ll go with you.”

  Willie laughed. “Confess, Daisy, you’re dying to meet her.”

  “Not dying. But I must say I’m curious to find out if she’s really as impossible as I’ve heard.”

  * * *

  “What’s up?” Alec asked as he and Ernie Piper stepped out into the rain and walked briskly towards the police station. “New information?”

  “Not exactly, Chief. Nothing new, just putting things together from statements taken this evening and the ones that came in earlier. And Mr. Underwood wants to talk to you about who interviews who tomorrow.”

  “It sounds as if I’m going to be glad I decided to drive down!”

  They turned in at the door beneath the blue lamp.

  As they entered the room, Underwood stood. “Thank you for coming back, sir. I’m sorry to disturb your evening.”

  “Comes with the job, doesn’t it?” He tried not to sound grumpy. The poor bastard wasn’t married and very likely had nothing better to do with his evening than pore over his case, though no need for haste was apparent. The trail had been cold before the starting point was discovered.

  Alec sat down. Ernie went to the desk and produced from his pocket a wax paper–wrapped packet.

  “Veal and ham pie, sir. Miss Hedger put it up for you. She said all you had for supper yesterday was pickled onions and crisps.”

  “And a couple of Scotch eggs, but it’s very thoughtful of her. Please give her my thanks.”

  “I will.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Underwood?” Alec asked, suppressing his impatience over these courtesies. He’d gone without dinner often enough to know how much it was appreciated if it turned up unexpectedly.

  While waiting for Underwood to finish his mouthful, Alec debated internally whether to tell him about Daisy’s unsanctioned outing with the rector. The inspector was bound to find out, if he hadn’t already. Better to get it over with, but perhaps he could keep Daisy out of it.

  “While you’re eating, let me tell you what I’ve just heard. It seems the rector has spoken to three young women, unknown to each other, all of whom describe Cartwright as a ladies’ man, given to pressing his attentions where they’re not wanted.”

  “Miss Leighton told you?”

  “No, and my source refused to give names. Miss Leighton’s a fair bet, though.”

  “Dead cert. That sort of bully always picks on those in a position of weakness.”

  “Which makes an attempt on Mrs. Gray’s virtue less likely, however.”

  “True,” Underwood admitted reluctantly. “It calls for a second interview, though, with a bit more to go on than his story and his wife’s. And of course, I’ll have to talk to the rector.”

  “And Miss Leighton.”

  “After we find out what the rector has to say, and after school’s out.”

  Alec nodded. “What else is on the agenda?”

  “Your sergeant here has turned up a couple of points that need looking into. Three of the neighbours have mentioned seeing a black closed saloon car parked outside Cherry Trees, several times in the past few months and at least once in the last fortnight. And a couple who take a stroll every evening have twice seen a similar car drive up the street, pause outside Cherry Trees, and then drive on quite fast. The man thinks it was a Jowett.”

  “They noticed it because of the odd behaviour, Chief, but didn’t think to mention it until they were asked specifically about a car of that appearance.”

  “No licence plate number, I suppose?”

  “The letters, BH, which is Bucks. No surprise. They contradict each other on the numbers.”

  “Too much to hope for,” said Underwood. “It’s pretty good luck to get that much, considering the high hedges. Not the sort of street where every neighbour knows everyone else’s doings.”

  “I haven’t actually seen the street or house yet,” Ernie reminded them.

  “Nor you have, Sergeant. You’d best take a walk over there first thing tomorrow, so that Miss Sutcliffe can get on with the cleaning. You’ve read the reports. Take a look round, see if you think we’ve missed anything. Then you can go and show the rings to Mr. Ainsley—”

  “The rings!” Alec exclaimed. “Mrs. Gray’s rings?”

  Underwood grinned. “Who else’s? They were delivered by a motorcycle officer while you were at dinner.” From an envelope he shook out on to the desktop a plain gold wedding band and a rather flashy ruby ring. Picking up his piece of pie, he took a large bite.

  Alec reached for the rings, but held back. “They’ve been checked for dabs? And cleaned?”

  His mouth full once again, the inspector nodded.

  The rings smelled faintly of formalin. Inside the band were engraved initials, APG and JJG. “Albert Gray and Judith Gray. What were their middle names?”

  “Albert Peter and Judith Jane,” Ernie said instantly.

  “Not much doubt there. And the ruby is distinctive, in the heart-shaped setting with those diamond chips.”

  Underwood swallowed his mouthful. “Not ruby. It’s paste. Well, he was known as a skinflint. Mr. Ainsley should be able to make a positive identification of the ring, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes. Which means we’re close to certainty on the identity of the deceased. Did they say what killed her?”

  “Broken neck, as far as they can tell. Dislocated vertebrae caused by a fall. The doc is pretty sure it wasn’t broken postmortem and the…” He looked down at the top paper of the pile in front of him. “The hyoid bone is intact, so no strangulation. He thinks the back of the head may have been bruised, but probably from the fall, not severely enough to suggest she’d been hit. No bone damage, at least. And that’s about all he’s willing to say, because of the condition of the body. The worst is, it’s impossible to clean up her face to make her recognisable.”

  “Damn! Time of death?”

  “Still two to four weeks, probably the middle of that range. I’ll have Pennicuik follow up with all the most promising neighbours, see if he can dig out anything the uniformed men missed. He can man the station here while you run your errands, Sergeant, then you’ll take over here while he does his part.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “First thing, though, catch the ladies at breakfast, before the two of ’em go to work. Ask if any of them ever noticed a vehicle like the one reported. If that’s all right with you, Chief Inspector?”

  “We’re at your disposition, Mr. Underwood. What’s on the agenda for me?”

  “I wondered if you happen to have any acquaintances at the Foreign Office. I’d very much like to know the stepson’s whereabouts in the past couple of months. Also, this friend who inherits the pearls has to be run to earth, and her address is in London.”

  “As it happens,” Alec said dryly, “a friend of mine from Manchester University managed to squeeze through the swarms of Oxbridge men into a position at the FO. I expect he’ll be able and willing to help. Anything else to be done while I’m in town?”

  “Not that I can think of. I don’t suppose Mrs. Fletcher would like to go with you?”


  “And stay there? I’ll put it to her, but I doubt it. She seems to be comfortably settled at the Saracen’s Head and determined to support her friends, though she might pop up for a few hours to see the twins.”

  “Ah well.” At least Underwood apparently didn’t delude himself that Alec was able to control Daisy’s movements. “Myself, I’m going to start in High Wycombe. I’ll send someone up to the county offices in Aylesbury to get a list of owners of cars with the BH registration. You never know, if it’s not too long it may be useful. Then I’ll call on Mr. Butterworth, the ladies’ solicitor, and whatsisname, Miss Chandler’s boss—”

  “Mr. Davis, sir,” Ernie put in.

  “Thank you, Sergeant. And see if I can catch Vaughn at his office. If not, I’ll talk to his boss and set up an appointment.”

  “Langridge’s, in the High Street.”

  “Then back here to have a word with the rector. Depending on what he has to say, I may ask you to come with me, Sergeant, to see Cartwright. Depends on the time, too. I won’t fetch him out of his classroom if he turns out not to be a serious suspect. Have I covered everything?”

  “It should clear the ground nicely,” said Alec, “which is about the best we can hope for at this stage, considering how little we have to go on.”

  “One thing, sir.” Ernie hesitated. “It’s not strictly relevant, but it’s kind of a loose end you might want to tie up.”

  “What’s that, Mr. Piper? Go ahead.”

  “Well, Miss Hedger told me there’s a rumour Mrs. Gray did away with the old man. There’s likely nothing in it, and even if it’s true, it wouldn’t have a direct effect on finding who killed her. Unless…” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

  “Spit it out, man,” Underwood encouraged him.

  “It’s pure speculation, sir, as the Chief would say, but supposing her stepson guessed she’d murdered his dad—”

  “Or came home for his funeral and heard the rumour—You’d better ask where he was at that time, too, Mr. Fletcher. April, wasn’t it?”

  “He died on the twenty-fourth of April, sir, and was buried on the twenty-eighth.”

  “Not much time to return to England from the farthest reaches of Empire,” Alec observed. “But a friend who attended the funeral and heard the rumour could have passed it on in a letter. In any case, I’ll check the dates.”