“How did you know it was a woman?”
“She was wearing a skirt. And a scarf. And—oh, it was everything about her. The awkward way she handled the bike, the way she walked.”
“You could see all that from here?”
“Look for yourself. The kitchen window.”
I looked. The kitchen window was larger than those in the rest of the cottage. I thought Richard had probably enlarged it to take advantage of the view. Brocklesby Hall, sitting in a little valley, was spread out in all its gaudy grandeur for Richard to see while he ate his breakfast. Even on a gray, cloudy day the window commanded miles of countryside. I could easily believe that on a moonlit night he could pick out details on the road by the entrance to the drive.
I came back and sat opposite the two of them. They hadn’t moved closer, they weren’t touching anymore, but the electricity between them was palpable. I wasn’t needed, and they certainly didn’t want to share lunch with me. I doubted they would remember to eat at all. It was time I was out of there.
There was one more thing I had to clear up first, though.
“Why were you so sure it was Meg?”
“I wasn’t! It never occurred to me that it was anyone I knew, at the time. A woman, and not young, was the only impression I got. It was only afterward, when I knew about Mrs. Lathrop, that I began to think it was odd, someone being near the house just about the time when the tea could have been poisoned, and to wonder who the woman could have been. And then I could only think of Meg, and I thought I must have been mistaken about the woman’s age, with the moonlight and all, and—well, I was an ass, as I said.”
“Fear can obscure anyone’s mental processes. Yes, you were stupid, but we all are, now and then.”
“But, Mrs. Martin—Dorothy. I’m still wondering. It wasn’t Meg. It wasn’t Mrs. Hawes; she was in the house already. And there’s no other woman with a key to get into the Hall.
“So—who was it?”
14
That was the question of the day, and, in fact, of the next several days. Inspector Morrison, when I walked back to the Hall to report, was, of course, furious with Richard.
“Five days later, he tells us! Five days!” He clenched his jaw. “Do you realize how much harder it is going to be to trace an unknown female after five days? It is entirely possible that Mr. Richard Adam may be charged with obstruction of justice, and I, for one, would be delighted to see him convicted!”
That was just temper, of course. The inspector had no time to waste on such side issues, much as he might have liked to. He set in motion the whole vast machinery of “routine,” instituting a far-flung network of inquiries, organizing his small, always too small complement of men and women to do what had to be done. Nobody had much hope, after all this time, that anyone would remember a woman, not young, not a very good cyclist. But it all had to be tried, the questions had to be asked, however useless they might prove to be.
I had to look for a lift into town, since Meg had forgotten I existed. Not that I could blame her. She and Richard could both work at the Hall now and live in Richard’s idyllic cottage, happily ever after, presumably. On a practical level, I thought he’d be good with Jemima, and that, after all, was one of the really important things.
Inspector Morrison had also forgotten about me, in the flurry of issuing orders, so I wandered out to the parking lot to see if any of the police were bound for town. On the way I ran into Sir Mordred, coming out of the workshop. He looked awful. His face was white, his hands were shaking, his breathing was labored.
“Sir Mordred, are you all right? You don’t look a bit well. Is there anything I can do for you?”
He looked at me without recognition for a moment, and then ran a handkerchief across his face.
“Mrs. Martin. Thank you, no. I shall be quite all right. These past few days have been frightful, and I’m a bit tired, that’s all.”
“I’m sure you should have a doctor. Is there someone I could call?”
“No! I don’t believe in doctors. I shall be quite all right. Please don’t bother!”
He tottered off to the house, leaving me shaking my head in the parking lot.
Eventually, one of the policemen took me back to Meg’s house, where I picked up my car, went home, and put in a call to Alan. I was bursting with conversation.
It was one of those days when he was heavily burdened with meetings, so it wasn’t till after dinner that he was able to call me back. By that time he had heard the latest developments from Morrison, which relegated most of what I had to say to the category of old news.
“I hear you’ve been making my DCI’s job harder for him,” was his greeting.
“Thanks a lot! I saved him hours of chasing up blind alleys, is what I did!”
Alan gave the comfortable chuckle I so love. “You did, indeed. So I informed him. He said he’ll remember to thank you later.”
“Smart aleck. At least I got Richard to talk, and that puts the poor inspector one or two steps off square one.”
“Only one or two, I’m afraid. Until we trace the mysterious lady, Derek’s absolutely in the dark. And, of course, tracing her is going to be much harder than it would have been several days ago.”
“Yes. Still, it shouldn’t be impossible. Farmers would have been awake at that hour, and an old lady abroad on a bicycle before 6 A.M. would stick in the mind, wouldn’t you think?”
“Perhaps. It would be useful if we had any idea at all of whom we were looking for.”
“Another illusion shattered! I thought you went at these things like scientists, trying to gather facts, not prove a theory.”
He heaved an exaggerated sigh.
“You do read the wrong sort of books, my dear. I shall have to educate you properly. We try to be unprejudiced in our approach, of course, but we cannot gather all the facts in the world. Even scientists set limits to their experiments, so that it’s clear what data they are trying to collect.
“Derek’s people will be asking everyone they can find whether they saw anyone at all on that road, or any nearby road, at any time before dawn that morning. They’ll check out bicycles in the neighborhood. They’ll try to trace the woman’s movements, where she came from, where she went after she left the Hall. If, indeed, she ever went to the Hall. It’s the slimmest possible lead, but as it’s the only one we have, we have to follow it up. But hunting an unknown is worse than the proverbial needle in the haystack. It would be extremely helpful to know we were looking for a bright blue knitting needle, size thirteen.”
“Well, then, I’ll nose around and see if anyone has any ideas about stray knitting needles wandering in the vicinity of the Hall.”
“Do that. Who knows, it might just help. Now that you’ve managed to destroy Derek’s case, it would be useful if you could build up another one.”
Well, a little sarcasm wouldn’t hurt me. Once again he hadn’t told me to go peddle my papers, and unless it was an accidental oversight, it was a very good sign.
Next morning, a cold, rainy morning, I poured a third cup of coffee, pulled out a small notebook and a pencil, and tried to think. The weather was not conducive to thought. The rain dripping steadily from the eaves had a soporific effect; so did the cats, sleeping heavily one on either side of me as I sat on the couch.
I shook myself awake and started to make random notes. The first was a list of all the older women I could think of who were in any way connected with the Hall.
It was a very short list:
Mrs. Hawes, the cook
What’s-her-name, the new woman who dealt with school groups
Tearoom volunteers
Totally unproductive, I thought in disgust. The police would be checking out all those people. It was silly even to mention Mrs. Hawes; she was in the house that night, not wobbling around the countryside on a bicycle. I knew nothing about the tearoom volunteers except that they made terrible sandwiches and worse tea, and the police would be much more efficient than I
at getting their names and verifying their whereabouts. And it would turn out that they had all been in their blameless beds on the night of November whatever-it-was, and their feathers would get ruffled at the very idea of being questioned, and some of them would quit in disgust, and where would Sir Mordred be then, poor thing?
I shook my head and uttered an exasperated noise. Samantha uncurled her lean, elegant body, opened one blue eye, stuck her front claws gently into my hip to reprimand me for disturbing a cat’s rest, and went back to sleep, one paw over her eyes.
“Well, pardon me, Your Majesty!” Sam ignored me, having made her point Emmy chirped irritably and rolled into a ridiculous position on her back, all four paws in the air. I went back to my sorry list.
There was exactly one item that was worthy of a follow-up, and it wasn’t even a name. I searched my memory of that day–surely it was more than a week ago!—when I had arrived at the Hall to find it swarming with schoolchildren. I could call up the woman’s appearance: calm, authoritative, short graying hair, glasses, ordinary sort of figure clad in a brown tweed suit. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t remember her name. Oh, to be thirty again, with a memory!
I sighed loudly and got up. At my age and weight that is not as simple as it sounds, especially from a squashy couch; both cats were seriously annoyed by the amount of shoving and grunting I had to do, and said so. I went to the phone.
“Brocklesby Hall Museum of Miniatures.”
The voice this time was crisp and professional.
“Yes, may I speak to Mrs. Cunningham, please?”
“I’ll connect you.”
Meg’s voice was bright and eager. “This is Mrs. Cunningham.”
“Hi, Meg, Dorothy Martin. I gather the Museum is open today.”
The voice changed only a little. She wasn’t displeased to hear from me; I just wasn’t the one she was hoping was calling. “Good morning, Dorothy. We’re not actually open, not to the public. The police won’t let us, yet. But the staff are all in and working like mad.”
“Well, I won’t bother you. I’m sure you must be very busy. I just wondered if you and Richard would like to have that lunch we never got around to yesterday. He can’t have an awful lot to do on a day like this, and surely you can leave your duties for a little while. I’d very much like to treat the two of you to a celebration.”
“That’s kind of you. I’d like that, and I’m sure Richard would, too. He’s not working today, of course, it’s far too wet, but I’ll ring him. Would you like us to pick you up, or shall we meet somewhere?”
“I thought I’d pick you up. I’d like to make sure Sir Mordred is feeling all right. He was looking very ill yesterday.”
“I think he’s fine today, but come fetch us if you like. There’s a pub not far from here that does excellent bar food, if that’s okay with you?”
“Perfect. Around twelve-thirty?”
The rain made me extra cautious about my driving, and my Milquetoast style was not appreciated by others on the road, but I got to the Hall without incident and exactly on time. I had to ring the bell; the door was locked, but not guarded. Presumably Inspector Morrison had found more productive work for his men.
Meg answered the door herself.
“Ready to go?” I asked.
“Ready. What a marvelous hat!”
“I’m glad you like it,” I said demurely. I had taken an old orange knit cap and dressed it up with feathers given to me by a dear friend, including one rakish pheasant feather. “At least the rain can’t hurt it much. Is Richard coming?”
“I am.” He appeared behind Meg. “I’m in working clothes; I hope you don’t mind.” He eyed my hat doubtfully.
“Oh, don’t let the hat bother you. I wear them everywhere except the bathtub. Got into the habit when I was young and somehow never got out of it. You look fine. Um—would one of you like to drive, since I don’t know where we’re going?”
They exchanged amused looks, and Meg led the way to her car.
It wasn’t until we had ordered and settled ourselves that I brought up my agenda.
“Meg, I saw the new education director the other day, but I can’t remember her name.”
“Butler. Dulcie Butler.”
“Oh, my, she didn’t look at all like a Dulcie. Very efficient woman, more of an Edith or a Caroline, or something of that sort.”
“I suppose,” said Meg with a smile, “that she didn’t have gray hair and a commanding personality when she was christened.”
“Maybe not gray hair,” I said doubtfully. “I’ll bet she’s always been the commanding type; that kind are born, not made. I stand in awe of anyone who can make that many children behave. I used to be a teacher, and I could handle my own class well enough, but not hordes of somebody else’s kids.”
“She’s very good,” agreed Meg. “There’s a lot more to the job than supervising the school tours, of course, and she’s barely had a chance to begin, what with all the upsets, but she’s going to make a real difference. I think, when the current crisis has been sorted out, the Museum is going to be really well run. It’ll make a big difference to have a full staff. I’m glad Sir Mordred is finally getting around to seeing to it.”
“Has he had any luck finding a new accountant?”
“Not so far, but he’s looking. I think he’s close to hiring a new assistant director, as well. It’ll be a happy day for me when I can get back to doing what I’m supposed to be doing, looking after the collection.”
“How about a housekeeper?”
“That’ll come after he has the Museum re-staffed. I know he needs one badly, but he cares more about the Museum than he does about the Hall, or about his own comfort, for that matter.”
Richard had been silent, but he spoke up at that point “I intend to ask him for a second undergardener. I can’t go on trying to hold together a place this big without more help. I’d like to have Finch full-time, but I don’t think he’ll agree to that.”
“You don’t think Sir Mordred will—”
“Sorry. I meant I don’t think Finch will agree to come. He likes his independence. Sir M. wouldn’t mind. He’s always said Bob was a good man, and he thinks there was some mistake about the thefts. It’s my opinion there’ve been no real thefts, just what you might call natural attrition.”
“I hope you’re right, I must say.” I took a swig of my half-pint “About the thefts, I mean. And you might be surprised what Bob would agree to. He’s in a bad way right now. He’s lost a couple of jobs because of all the uproar at the Hall. Grossly unfair, but what can anyone do?”
Richard finished his beer and growled. “Pack of idiots. If they can’t see Finch is honest, they deserve to have their gardens go to couch grass.”
“Indeed.” I drained my own glass, and our food arrived. Richard had another beer; Meg and I, mindful of the drinking-and-driving laws, switched to mineral water.
“So what do the two of you think about the latest developments?” I asked when we had taken the edge off our hunger. “Have you had any thoughts about the mysterious woman?”
Both of them shook their heads.
“We’ve thought and thought,” said Meg. “Richard’s tried to remember a bit more of what she looked like, but of course he couldn’t see details, and it’s nearly a week ago, now. He can’t even say how tall or fat she was, because of the angle, and the moonlight. He’s pretty sure she wasn’t young.”
“She moved a bit stiffly, like someone with a touch of arthritis,” Richard elaborated.
“Like me,” I said ruefully.
“Well—”
“It’s all right. I’m not embarrassed about getting old and creaky. It happens to the best of us, if we’re lucky. I’m just old on the outside, though, not on the inside.” I looked to see if they knew what I meant. They were too young to know from experience that a person’s age doesn’t have much to do with what the calendar says.
Meg looked polite, but Richard smiled, that warm smile t
hat so changed his solemn countenance. “I know. My mother is like that. Nearly sixty, but she says she’s younger than I am, and she acts it, too!”
“Good for her. She doesn’t live around here, does she?”
He surprised me by roaring with laughter. “No, and she’d not be bicycling about the countryside doing in housekeepers if she did! But that’s the sort of person we’re looking for, I’d bet.”
Despite my resolution not to get into an exhaustive examination of all the possible women connected with the Hall, we ended up doing just that. Meg came up with more names than Richard did. He had little to do with the Museum staff, and he was sure neither of the maids at the Hall fit his mental picture. But Meg’s names weren’t much help, and she said she’d already given them to the police.
“There’s really only Mrs. Butler. Oh, I knew why you were asking, Dorothy. But I’m sure it wasn’t her. She’s a nice woman, and anyway, why would she murder two people she scarcely knew?”
“Does she have a key to the Hall?”
“Yes.” Her blue eyes flashed. “She has to,” she added defensively, “for special events and that sort of thing.”
“Then she has to be considered as a possibility. I agree that she isn’t likely, but I’d like to talk to her, anyway. Is she in today?”
Meg, rather unwillingly, said that Mrs. Butler was indeed working today, and added that she had better get back to work herself. She wasn’t very happy with me, I could see. Neither was Richard. Well, they couldn’t have everything. I’d gotten them out from under suspicion, but that meant other people had to be suspected. We drove back to the Hall in an uncomfortable silence.
When we arrived at the parking lot, I stopped them for a moment before they went their separate ways.
“I forgot to say, by the way, that I’m very happy for you both. Don’t let what’s happened spoil your happiness. You deserve it.”
Malice in Miniature Page 15
