Superfluous Women

by Carola Dunn

  The walk back from Cherry Trees was uphill, though not steep. Daisy considered taking Alec’s car. If she did, however, he was bound to need it. She left a note telling him where she had gone and asking him to pick her up in the car if possible.

  At least it had stopped raining.

  The royal blue Austin Twelve was not where Alec had parked it. How lucky she had decided against driving, or she would now be feeling aggrieved at its absence!

  About to turn into Orchard Road, she saw a large man walking towards her up Station Road. His hat brim hid his face from the light of the street lamp, but his walk was unmistakable. Daisy glanced round to make sure no one was about, then hailed him.

  “Hello, Tom!”

  He tipped his hat. “Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher. The ladies have been allowed to return home, I take it.”

  “Once a detective, always a detective. Are you in a hurry, or will you walk along with me?”

  “My pleasure. The Chief explained why I’m here, I assume.”

  “Because you’re bored stiff with being retired.” Daisy tucked her hand under his arm.

  He chuckled. “Haven’t found my civilian feet yet, and that’s the truth.”

  “Also because you’re the best at certain aspects of the job that no one else available is good at. You’re very unofficial and I’m not to recognise you in public.”

  “You did nicely when we ran into each other in the doorway last night. Not a blink.”

  “Just a wink,” Daisy retorted, “which was your doing. Have you found out anything useful.”

  “Ah.” Tom pondered. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you a bit of it. I’ve traced the gardener and, more important, the housekeeper who used to work for Mrs. Gray.”

  “Already? Did you talk to them? What did they say?”

  “I had a chat over a pint with the gardener, but I’m too unofficial to go asking nosy questions. Not unofficial enough to tell you what he said, anyway! The housekeeper’s moved away. The Chief’ll have to go after her. The missus heard some gossip that likely came from her in the first place, I can tell you that much.”

  “But not what the gossip is?”

  “Right.” His tone told her he was grinning, and she visualised the way his sweeping moustache twitched when he grinned.

  “It sounds as if you’ve both been busy, and successful. I suppose you won’t tell me how you communicate with the Chief, either.”

  “Not if he hasn’t, though I can’t see why he wouldn’t. Well, here we are.” He stopped at the gate of Cherry Trees. “All right to walk home, are you?”

  “Yes, thanks. ’Night, Tom. Give my regards to Mrs. Tring.”

  Daisy went up the path and rang the bell. Vera came to the door.

  “Come in, Daisy. Sorry about the smell, but carbolic is better than…” Her voice faltered.

  “Infinitely better.”

  “Isabel’s left the cellar door open to air it out. We’re keeping the rooms closed off as much as possible, but it seeps in everywhere. Do you mind coming into the kitchen? Izzie’s cooking.”

  “Of course not.”

  “She said there’s plenty, so you’re welcome to stay for supper, but doubtless Alec is expecting you.”

  “Actually, no. He’s too busy this evening. It’s part of being a copper’s wife, never knowing quite when he’ll turn up. Often he can’t even let me know in advance.”

  Vera opened the kitchen door; they hurried through and she closed it behind them. The kitchen smelled slightly fishy, but much less obnoxious than the hall or passage.

  “Hello, Daisy.” Isabel was at the sink, scraping and slicing carrots. “I decided I’d better bung out the beef, though it seemed to be perfectly all right. I just couldn’t face it. We’re having fish pie. I hope you’ll stay.”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “Willie said this morning she’ll probably work late today, so we’re not waiting for her.”

  “Alec’s working late, too.” Daisy sighed. “No such thing as regular hours for coppers.”

  While the carrots cooked and a delicious smell emanated from the oven, they sat at the kitchen table with a glass of white wine. Isabel had splurged to celebrate their return home.

  “I know it’s been only two days, but it seems like forever.”

  “It’s a pity Willie isn’t here,” said Vera.

  “We’ll save a glassful for her. Daisy, did Alec tell you what the letter from France said?”

  “Sorry, I haven’t actually seen him yet, and I didn’t want to leave it at the police station for him in case it got lost. I’ve got several other things to tell him—”

  “About Mrs. Gray’s trunks?”

  “That’s one. Also, I wanted to ask you whether you paid Mrs. Hedger for the time she worked between when Mrs. Gray disappeared and you moved in. If you know how long that was, it would help the police pin down the date she died.”

  “No, I didn’t pay her. It may seem mean, but I hadn’t asked her to work and there were so many unexpected expenses just then. We all agreed we weren’t morally obliged, even Vera.”

  “So it won’t be in your account book. That’s a pity. Did she ask to be paid?”

  “Oh yes. And that’s another thing: I had no way to tell if she was honest about how long she’d worked unpaid. For all I knew—or know, for that matter—she could have added a few extra days, though now I think she’s pretty honest, whatever her other flaws!”

  “What date did she claim she was last paid?”

  Isabel frowned in concentration, then shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

  “I bet Willie remembers,” said Vera. “She always remembers even the most insignificant numbers.”

  “True.” Even the numbers on a half-seen licence plate. “Will you ask her?”

  “I hope she’ll be home before you leave.” Isabel got up to test the carrots. “Just a couple of minutes more.” She opened the oven door and took out a haddock pie topped with crispy mashed potatoes. “We were going to eat in here tonight, Daisy. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” Having been properly brought up, she would have said exactly the same even if she abhorred the thought of dining in the kitchen.

  Apple charlotte followed the delicious fish pie. Willie still wasn’t home by the time Isabel served coffee. They were taking their first sips when the doorbell rang.

  “Not Willie,” said Vera, getting up, “unless she’s lost her key.” She went out, to return a moment later with Alec.

  “Good timing, darling. I wasn’t looking forward to walking back.”

  “All good policemen have a well-developed sense of timing. Good evening, Isabel.”

  “Good evening. Have you eaten?” asked Isabel, ever practical.

  “Yes, thanks. The Saracen sent us in some sandwiches.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Please. Vera—or Miss Leighton, if you prefer it in the circumstances—I’m going to have to ask you to describe to me your unpleasant experience with Cartwright.”

  “No!” Vera shot an accusing glance at Daisy. “I trusted—”

  “Inspector Underwood talked to Mr. Turnbull, who, incidentally, did not give him your name when he spoke of Cartwright’s misbehaviour. It wasn’t too difficult to deduce that you were one of his victims. We don’t expect to run into any difficulty in finding the other two.”

  “Daisy said the police wouldn’t be interested, it wasn’t bad enough for him to be arrested.”

  “Judging by what the three of you told the rector and assuming he reported accurately to the inspector, that is correct. Our only interest is in whether the details of his actions towards you indicate a pattern of behaviour that might have subsequently escalated.”

  “In other words,” said Daisy, “he might have gone on to push Mrs. Gray downstairs.”

  Alec frowned at her. “Miss Leighton?”

  “I can’t!”

  “Don’t be a jellyfish, Vera,” Isabel said bracingly. “Just imagine how you’d
feel if Cartwright went on to kill someone else, or even just assaulted another woman, because you wouldn’t help catch him.”

  “If you’d rather,” said Alec, “you can tell Daisy and she’ll take it down in shorthand. However, Underwood and I will both be reading her report. We may in that case have further questions, and in the end—either way—we’ll have to have your signature on it, stating that it’s correct.”

  “You never know,” said Daisy, “talking about it may help you to put it in perspective.”

  “Here or elsewhere?” Alec asked remorselessly. “With or without Daisy or Isabel?”

  Vera gave Isabel a pleading look. Isabel got up and poured her another glass of wine. “Have a little Dutch courage.”

  Twisting the stem of the wineglass in nervous fingers, Vera fixed her eyes on the pale liquid. She began to speak very fast. “The children had all left. I was writing on the blackboard when he came in, through the connecting door. A poem: ‘How do you like to go up in a swing?’ Do you know it? The little ones love it. I looked back to see who it was, and I smiled at him. I wish I hadn’t!”

  “For pity’s sake,” Isabel exploded. “That doesn’t make it your fault.”

  Alec gave her a look of the sort that could shut Daisy up in full flow, no mean achievement. “Did Cartwright say anything, Miss Leighton?”

  “I don’t think so. I can’t remember.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I turned back to the board and went on writing, and I explained to him that I was going to have the children copy the poem as best they could and memorise it. He came up behind me—”

  “You didn’t hear him coming?”

  “I was talking, as I said. Besides, he wears rubber-soled shoes so that the children can’t hear him creeping up on them. He shouldn’t be a teacher. He’s a bully.” Indignation trumped modesty. “He put his arms round me and felt my … my bosom! And kissed my neck. It was horrid. I got away and ran to the outside door. That’s when he called me—horrible names.”

  “You need not repeat his words. Did he pursue you?”

  “Just a few steps. He stopped and threatened me.”

  “Threatened violence?”

  “No. If I told anyone he’d deny it and I’d lose my job.”

  “He made no attempt to attack physically? To give you a push or a slap?”

  “He shook his fist,” Vera said doubtfully. “I could have been outside before he reached me. Someone might have seen. He went back into his classroom and slammed the door.”

  “Has he tried anything since?”

  “No. But I’ve been afraid he might.”

  “You’ll be all right now. I’ll be very surprised if Cartwright doesn’t leave at the end of term, if not before. Thank you for being brave enough to tell me.” Alec took a last mouthful of coffee and stood up. “Daisy, are you ready to go?”

  “Yes, I’ll just get my—” Intercepting a disappointed look from Isabel, Daisy changed direction. “But there are a couple of things I must give you.…” She dug in her handbag for the letter from France.

  “Later, Daisy. I’ve got to get back to the station.”

  Once in the car, she returned to the subject. “Darling, I really do have some important information for you. Perhaps I’d better come with you to—”

  “How important?”

  “Very.”

  “Daisy, what have you been up to?”

  “Nothing! Mostly just taking messages for you.”

  “Messages?”

  “A telegram from Mr. Crane, for one.”

  “Great Scott, Daisy! What does he say?”

  “I don’t know. It was delivered, not telephoned, and I didn’t read it.”

  “How do you know it’s from the super, then?”

  “The boy told Sally it’s from the Yard. There’s a message from Tom, too.”

  “I told you not to—”

  “I met him in the street, in the dark. He walked me to Cherry Trees. Do you want to know what he said?”

  “Of course,” Alec said crossly. “That can’t wait till we reach the station. Underwood doesn’t know about Tom.”

  “He didn’t tell me any details.” She related the snippets the retired detective sergeant had passed on. “Does it sound helpful?”

  “Might be.”

  “How about what Vera said?”

  He sighed. “A washout. It tends to suggest Cartwright was likely to confine his anger at rejection to verbal abuse. A suggestion is not evidence. Your friend Willie wasn’t home yet?”

  “No, she’d let them know she’d probably be working late.”

  “With any luck, finishing up the job. Perhaps we’ll be able to clear up that side of things tomorrow, if not tonight.”

  “Vaughn’s defalcations—if that’s the right word? Did you see him tonight?”

  “Not yet. We had an appointment with him and his wife, but they went off to the theatre in town before we arrived. We left poor Ernie there—not that he wasn’t being spoiled rotten by the servants—to phone in when the Vaughns return, however late.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be getting up at one in the morning to go off and interview them?”

  “If I get to bed at all. Underwood is no slacker and he’s on his mettle.”

  “Treading the fine line between competing and cooperating with Scotland Yard, poor man! Well, I won’t tell you any more until I can tell him at the same time. Anyway, here we are.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Alec preceded Daisy into the room. “Mr. Underwood, my wife has information for us. May she come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” The inspector came to the door. “Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher. What have you discovered?”

  Daisy was unwontedly nervous. Underwood’s presence would deter Alec from blowing her up, but he might himself take a dim view of her activities, though he was too polite to accuse her of meddling—she hoped.

  The telegram first, she decided. She couldn’t get into too much trouble over that.

  “This is addressed to Alec,” she said, handing it over. “Miss Hedger gave it to me to give to him. She told me the boy said it’s from Scotland Yard.”

  Alec took a steel paper knife from the inkstand on the desk, slit open the envelope, and scanned the enclosed form. “Damn! Er, drat.”

  He gave it to Underwood, who read it and said, “Pity. We’ve lost one of our suspects. I suppose the Foreign Office couldn’t be mistaken?”

  “They could, of course, but I for one am not about to challenge them without a good deal of other evidence.”

  “Which we haven’t got. Nothing but motive. All right, Mrs. Fletcher, what’s that?”

  Daisy held out the French envelope. The foreign stamp made both Alec and Underwood sit up and brought Pennicuik to his feet for a closer look.

  Underwood reached for it. “From France, and addressed to Mrs. Gray!” He picked up the paper knife.

  “How did you get hold of it, Daisy?” Alec’s tone was ominous.

  The inspector looked up with a glance of mild, slightly amused enquiry.

  “I was about to tell you. It’s addressed to Cherry Trees. The bobby at the gate wouldn’t let the postman deliver there on Monday, so he left the post at the post office, and they kept this morning’s delivery, too. I was with Isabel—Miss Sutcliffe—when she went in to fetch it. Of course she showed it to me. She didn’t know when she’d see you, Alec, or DI Underwood, and she assumed I’d see you sooner, so she asked me to pass it on. I gave her a receipt. And she gave me a note saying she’d given it to me on the understanding I’d hand it over to the police.” Daisy found the bit of paper and laid it on the desk.

  “Very thoughtful,” Underwood approved. He slid the knife under the flap, trying with a delicate touch to open the envelope undamaged.

  “Daisy, you’d better go,” said Alec.

  “Oh, but I’ve got more to tell you.”

  “What on earth—”

  “‘Where on earth are yo
u, Judith darling?’” Underwood interrupted, reading. “‘We’ve been expecting you for weeks. Geegee is biting his nails, sure you’ve had an accident. I told him you’re just enjoying the fleshpots of Paris, which only makes him bite his nails the more. Darling, you didn’t say which hotel you’re staying at so I hope the horrid people who bought your house will forward this. Love from all of us. Do hurry.’ I can’t read the signature. Here, take a look.” He passed it to Alec.

  “Could well be Liz, don’t you think?”

  “Let me see,” Daisy requested. “Yes, I’d say it was Liz, then either a K or an X, an initial or a kiss.”

  “Elizabeth Knox,” said Alec.

  Daisy handed the letter back to the inspector. “The address is quite legible.”

  “An address in Sang Tro-pay—”

  “And I know the hotel in Paris,” Daisy said triumphantly.

  All three men stared at her.

  “You do?” Underwood was incredulous.

  “How the deuce—?”

  “Darling, Isabel was naturally anxious about not being able to forward the letter to Mrs. Gray, and—”

  “This was before the two of you realised she ought to give it to us, I suppose,” Alec said ironically.

  “It must have been, mustn’t it? Anyhow, it seemed to me it might be worth asking at the station—the railway station—whether she’d sent on any trunks by train, and if so, where to. The stationmaster said the records will be at the railway company offices in London, but he remembered two going to St. Tropez, and a third was shipped to Paris, to the Majestic Hotel.”

  For a moment, silence reigned. Then Underwood said, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of asking the railway.”

  “We’ve been pursuing other leads,” said Alec, “and it’s been only two days … but you’re right. We should have thought of it. Well done, Daisy, though it would have been better to mention your brilliant idea to us and leave it to us to follow up.”