Withering Heights

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Apart from what she’d have to share with her brother, Simon,” Mrs. Malloy pointed out.

  “In addition to his role today, Val may also have needed instructions from him on opening up the priest hole. Lady Fiona said he wouldn’t share the secret when they visited Cragstone as children. Maybe he kept it until Val promised to give him a share of the wealth when she married Tom.”

  “What a pair!” Ben removed my empty brandy glass and set it down on a table. “That poor old lady.”

  “Miss Pierce was lonely with Mr. Gallagher gone and she must have been glad of Val’s company at first, but she wasn’t a fool. She knew Val was up to something. She wanted to show me a photo of Simon and couldn’t find it. Any guesses on who got rid of it?” I was getting angrier the more I talked. “What a gift of fate that her ladyship met Miss Pierce for lunch on Wednesday! But even if that hadn’t happened, it’s a sure bet that Betty would have put her at the scene. Another piece of luck for Val was meeting me in the grounds and telling me that Miss Pierce had forgotten her bus pass. It was a confirmation, should she be asked, of why she was at the bus stop when she never accompanied Miss Pierce on her weekly outings.”

  “But the thing is,” Mrs. Malloy said bitterly, “convincing as all this sounds to us, we don’t have a shred of evidence to take to the police. They’d laugh us out the door.”

  “You’ve made a believer of me, sweetheart”-Ben kissed my cheek-“but it looks to me as though she’ll get away with it. Any thoughts on who she got to play Madam LaGrange?”

  Before I could answer, the door opened and Melody Tabby came into the room. She was every bit as frumpy as I remembered from my one time of meeting her. Her hair didn’t look as though it had been combed in a week, and she was wearing a pasty beige dress and clodhopping shoes. I saw Mrs. Malloy sneak a smug look at her own footwear, which happened to be the black pair of high-heeled sandals with the narrow crisscross straps she had worn on our visit to Mr. Scrimshank’s office.

  “So you’re wearing those shoes again, Roxanne.” Melody spoke in a great rush, with some concomitant huffing and puffing. “Remind me to say something about them in a minute.” She paused for a half second to look at Ben and me. “Excuse me for barging in like this. A woman named Mavis let me into the house. She had a little boy with her who tried to put his toffee hands on me.

  “Pesky kid!” Ben eyed her with enjoyment.

  “Here’s the news. Ed the locksmith arrived at the office at one twenty-seven. Three minutes early. But I didn’t make an issue of it. He had black hair and eyes and a swarthy complexion. Memories of Edward Rochester came flooding back. The same Christian name-but I wasn’t going down that road again. He got into the safe”-catching Mrs. Malloy’s baleful eye-“let’s say for speed, in a twiddle or two. I got out the Gallaghers’ financial records and, like I said I would do, made copies. Seeing as Mr. Scrimshank had said he wouldn’t be back at the office today, I took the copies home with me and started going through them page by page. It took me fifty-seven minutes and thirty-one seconds to find the relevant information. That evil man has swindled the Gallaghers out of-well, in the cause of haste I will say hundreds of thousands of pounds. I immediately phoned Police Sergeant Walters and got him on the case. He rang back to say he had spoken with some of the higher-ups at the station and would be round forthwith to collect the papers. And he was at my home in five and three-quarter minutes.”

  “That was very good of him,” said Ben.

  “I’d have blasted his ears off if he’d given me any flack!” Melody bristled assertively. “He’s my gentleman friend. Has been for six and three-quarter years, two weeks, and four days. The least he can do is jump to it when I toss evidence of a crime in his lap. And that leads me back to what I wanted to say about your shoes, Roxanne. I didn’t bring it up when we talked about Ed coming to open the safe because, as you know, I like to focus on one thing at a time.”

  “Spit it out, Melody.”

  “I was standing at the window in my office yesterday afternoon at precisely four-thirty. That’s always the time when I get up from my chair and do my stretching exercises. If you remember the window, it is fairly wide but there’s the blind cutting down the view. Meaning that when you stand in front of it you can’t see all of a person, only their shoes and part of their legs. This is what I saw. A foot shod in one of those exact shoes, Roxanne, kicked forward, and the next minute there was the horrific sound of brakes being jammed on, followed by a lot of shouting and screaming. An old lady had gone under the bus. The death of Miss Valerie Pierce has been passed off as an accident, or so it said in this morning’s newspaper, but I know that shoe kicked out on purpose, making it a case of murder. Though what good is that when I cannot provide a description of the person standing in them? Oh, I do hope it wasn’t poor Frances Edmonds, roped in again by Mr. Scrimshank to do his evil bidding.” Looking sad, Melody allowed Ben to help her into a chair.

  “But we know who it was, don’t we, Mrs. H? We talked about Val’s having a pair exactly like these.” Mrs. Malloy looked solemnly down at her feet. “Thank you, Mel, for giving us what it takes to battle on for justice.” She was giving her sister a hug when Tom came in.

  “How’s Betty?” Ben asked him.

  “Much better. In fact, she’s gone for a drive with Val.”

  “What?”

  “Val stopped by to see if she could borrow a cup of sugar, and when she found out about Betty and the others”-Tom glanced at Mrs. Malloy and me-“she suggested they both get away for an hour. It seemed a good idea, considering the two of them have been through a good deal in the past twenty-four hours.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said, as gently as possible, “Val may be about to murder your wife.”

  “Good God!” Did some deep, unprobed awareness convince him? Tom would have swayed and fallen if Melody had not jumped up. Catching him under the arms, she continued to hold him up.

  “The question is, where will they have gone?” Ben pounded a fist into his hand.

  “To Lady Fiona’s hotel,” I said. “Val wouldn’t act this quickly unless she thought she could turn Betty’s escape from the priest hole to good account. Tom, do you or Betty own a gun?”

  “Yes, I thought it might help her feel safer. It’s in my bedside table drawer.”

  “Not anymore.” I looked at him sadly, thinking how much more sensible it would have been to replace the missing outdoor key.

  “It was Val who suggested…”

  “Her story will be that Betty asked to be driven to the hotel so she could confront Lady Fiona. That she was beside herself with rage and distress and on arrival pulled the gun to force a confession. A scuffle followed in which her ladyship and Betty were both shot. A revised ending but not bad. Poor Betty! Already unbalanced and cracking completely after her horrible experience in the priest hole.” I drew a ragged breath.

  “How long ago did Val and Betty drive away?”

  “I waved them off right before coming in here.” Tom struggled free of Melody’s sustaining hands.

  “I’ve got to get to that hotel.”

  “You don’t need to,” said Melody, with a glow that made her look positively ravishing. “That’s what my policeman gentleman is good for. It’ll be Police Sergeant Walters to the rescue. He’s at the jewelry shop around the corner from the Bronte Hotel, picking out my engagement ring.”

  14

  On the Saturday morning two days later, Ben, Mrs. Malloy, and I made ready for our departure from Cragstone House. All was well. Betty’s rescue had been accomplished before she and Val stepped into the hotel lift. Simon Pierce, in being questioned by the police, handed Val over on a silver plate in return for the deal he was offered. Val had attempted to put the blame on him but gave in when he started to talk. His wife had played the part of Madam LaGrange. She was the woman with orange hair I had seen outside Mrs. Johnson’s bed and breakfast. When Mrs. Malloy finally got hold of the real Madam LaGrange, we learned she had been met on ar
riving at the train station by a man of Simon’s description who said the Hopkinses’ séance was called off. As he handed her twice what Ariel had promised, she was more than happy to take off for a few days’ holiday.

  Tom had barely let Betty out of his sight after her rescue. She was recovering rapidly from the shock of discovering she had been an intended murder victim. No more playing detective, she had vowed to me. From this point on, she would be entirely happy as a wife and mother. She even admitted to looking forward to the pleasure and responsibilities of great wealth. And she and Tom were making plans for what they would do for their friends the Edmondses.

  Frances had been concerned that when Mr. Scrimshank was arrested she would be called in for interrogation by the police regarding the phone call she had made to him, which he said came from Mr. Gallagher. She had gone in voluntarily to talk to Sergeant Walters, with the result that she might be required to testify should Mr. Scrimshank plead not guilty to the criminal charges filed against him.

  Ariel danced around Ben while he packed the Land Rover, issuing instructions with her customary bossiness.

  “It’s not an easy job, bringing up parents,” I heard her telling him. “They can be a great trial at times, but I’m willing to accept my responsibilities if they’ll promise to play nicely together.”

  Mrs. Malloy was delighted that Melody’s love interest was a policeman with an intriguing middle-aged voice and most of his hair. Lady Fiona was in the process of moving into the Dower House, much to the joy of Mrs. Cake and Mavis, and I decided to go and say good-bye to her.

  “How very kind of you to pay me a visit, Mrs. Honeywood.” She ushered me into the pleasant sitting room, already made not quite the same as during Nanny Pierce’s occupancy by the addition of several small pieces that created a comfortable disregard for whether things matched or didn’t. “We’ve had rather a lot of flies in the house over the last couple of days, but otherwise moving has not been overwhelming. How is your brother, the artist model? No doubt you worry about his catching cold, but there are dangers in any career. One need think only of poor Mr. Scrimshank. Such a stressful job, being an accountant. Let us hope he will get a good rest in his new environment.”

  “He may well have overworked, getting his sums to add up,” I said.

  “Indeed, yes. I myself never mastered long division, Enid-you did want me to call you that-shall I have Mrs. Cake make us a pot of tea? Her foot is so much better that she hobbled over here and is in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, I would love-”

  “No, of course you don’t. I’d forgotten that you don’t take hot drinks, and I’m sorry to say I don’t have any of that mango juice you enjoy so much.” The French doors from the garden opened, and in walked a solidly built man of medium height and sparse gray hair.

  “Sorry, m’dear,” he said to Lady Fiona. “Didn’t realize you had company. I’ll go off again, shall I?”

  “Of course not, Nigel, we can’t have you starting up this wandering-off business again the moment you walk in the door. Do say hello to Enid Honeywood. Then sit down and tell us where you have been and whether or not it was a good trip.”

  After shaking my hand and saying the usual things, he sat down and strummed his fingers on his crossed knees. “Haven’t had a bad time. Plenty of exercise! Been keeping fit yourself, my dear?” he inquired of her ladyship.

  “I should be going,” I said, but Mr. Gallagher waved me down. “No need to rush off. Good to see you again after all these years. Eyes just like your father. Would’ve known you anywhere, Elsie.”

  “Enid,” corrected her ladyship. “Nigel, dear, I do have some sad news about Nanny.”

  It seemed to me that Mr. Gallagher’s face brightened. “Hung up her butterfly net, has she?”

  “I’m afraid so, but at least you’re back in time to attend her funeral, and that of a clergyman who came to tea at Cragstone and seemed convinced that he and I had once been married. People can be exceedingly odd; the woman who bought Crag-stone with her husband is definitely peculiar. She got it into her head that I had murdered you. And disposed of you in the strawberry patch, I suppose.”

  “Rubbish! Why would you do a thing like that, old girl? Knowing, as you do, that I’ve always been allergic to strawberries. Never mind that. Glad to see you’re not miffed at my going off and leaving you to cope with Nanny when she was foaming at the mouth over being sent here to live.”

  “I’m always ready to hear your side of the story.” Lady Fiona sounded ever so slightly impatient.

  “The thing is, Fiona, I’ve had amnesia.”

  “Just as Mrs. Cake said would have happened. She was sure burglars had broken in and coshed-such a funny word-you on the head. Thereby causing you to wander off in a daze.”

  “Hit the nail on the head!” Mr. Gallagher smiled in the manner of a man who knows himself to be blessed with a wife in a million. “Won’t go into details of everywhere I’ve been during the last year of a half, would take too long. But I have some lively anecdotes to share with you, my dear. Can be damned awkward not knowing who the devil one is! What brought me back to m’self was reading a mention in one of the daily rags about Cragstone being sold. Uh! Ha! I said to m’self. Something smells familiar! That place was my home! Better be heading back there. Was in the Scottish Highlands at the time, with nothing but holes in my pockets, making for something of a trek. Maybe we should take up hitchhiking together. The thing is, here I am, m’dear!”

  “And very nice too.”

  “How about a cup of tea for the weary traveler?”

  “You haven’t told me the interesting part yet, Nigel. How did you happen to come down with amnesia?”

  “Oh, that! Well, if you remember we had that little squiff about my not being able to find my blue-and-black Argyle socks. Entirely my fault! I was out of sorts after trying all day to reach Scrimshank on the phone. You’d gone up to bed and there I was sitting in the drawing room, when he came ringing the doorbell. Damned inconsiderate! He could have woken Nanny, causing me to be up all night with her while she told me bedtime stories.”

  “She’s in the past, Nigel. Please continue with what happened that evening after Archibald Scrimshank arrived.”

  “I’d done some figuring of my own, which brought me to the regrettable conclusion that the chap had been embezzling from us for years. Decided to do the gentlemanly thing and request an explanation. Honest, forthright, man-to-man. Wouldn’t have wanted to take the fellow to court but saw no harm in asking him to begin making payments arranged to suit both parties.”

  “Exactly as I would have wished, Nigel. Unfortunately, the police have used very poor judgment by involving themselves in the situation. Archibald has been removed to one of those correctional facilities, as I believe they are called, where one isn’t allowed to choose one’s own pajamas. Fortunately, most men like stripes. I imagine your encounter with him deteriorated and ended in his attacking you.”

  “Most unpleasant business. Didn’t recall it until the rest of my memory returned. I must have been knocked out cold for a while. Came round to an exploding head. Had no idea where I was, went for a walk hoping to shake things back into place, and couldn’t find my way back to the house. All behind me now, old girl. Wouldn’t be surprised if my trials and tribulations-and yours too, Fiona-will assist in our adjustment to a changing world.” Mr. Gallagher stretched out his legs and, beaming blissfully, closed his eyes.

  “Not color television, Nigel. I really don’t think I could bear it.”

  “Good grief! Nothing that dreadful! I was talking about living here at the Dower House instead of Cragstone. Regrets, m’dear?”

  “None, Nigel. I think it may be rather fun.”

  “Good show! Wonder if Mrs. Cake and Mavis would object to working for us only part-time? I rather enjoy the thought of its just being the two of us occasionally.”

  “I think both of them have now warmed toward the new family and would probably enjoy working between both
houses, with Mrs. Cake continuing to live at Cragstone.”

  I had sat absolutely still, so as not to disturb them. It had been like watching a play. But now the curtain must fall. It was time for me to leave. Ben would have the car sorted out and be eager to set off. I said my good-byes to the Gallaghers with a real twinge of regret. As the door was closing behind me, I heard her ladyship say to her husband, “She seems a lovely young woman, Nigel, but I do hope she doesn’t take to popping in all the time. That was the problem with her aunt, the one they had to ship off to Gibraltar.”

  On reaching Cragstone’s front steps, I found Ben and Mrs. Malloy ready to be off.

  “Promise to come and stay with us again?” Ariel gave us each a kiss through the car window. We did not prolong our leave-taking, which would have made it harder. Having shared so much, it was my hope that we would remain close. The Hopkinses stood and waved until we turned through the gateposts.

  “What now?” Ben asked. “Would you like to stop and see your sister before we take off, Mrs. Malloy?”

  “I haven’t known how to break it to you both, but I told Melody I’d stay with her for a few days and help her plan her trousseau. She’s asked me to be her bridesmaid and I couldn’t say no, although I’m scared silly she’ll want me to wear brown. It’s always been her favorite color. And I’ve got to say I think it suits her… Could be she’ll turn into a beauty yet.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” I said.

  “ ’Course she’ll never be able to write poetry, but none of us gets to have it all.”

  Ben said he agreed heartily, and we drove in companionable silence to the house where Melody rented the top floor.