'Oh.' Tommy was taken aback. Penny had obviously been shamelessly exaggerating. Perhaps he ought to put Timothy right as to what had really happened. But, no. One shouldn't contradict a lady. Not the act of a gentleman. So he just smiled self-deprecatingly. 'It was nothing, really,' he said.
* * *
Gerry woke with a start. For a moment she thought there was somebody in the room. But no. What—
Then it came to her. She remembered what it was that had been wrong. It had worked. She had concentrated on the problem before going to sleep, and it had worked. She sat up and turned on the light. What did it mean? It couldn't really be significant, after all. Could it? She thought hard.
The next moment she knew. She knew who had killed Clara. It had to be. It was the only answer. For seconds she couldn't take it in. There was still no way of getting proof. Except - except that one other person had to know. Somebody had been covering up. Could she somehow persuade that person to tell the truth? Obviously it wouldn't be easy. But she had to try. She looked at the bedside clock. Ten past four. She couldn't go back to sleep, not tonight, with this new knowledge. No, she had to act now and use all her powers to force an admission. She got out of bed, put on her slippers and dressing-gown and left the room.
Chapter Thirty-Five
'Wonder what time Wilkins'll be here?' Lord Burford said moodily.
He was picking at his bacon and eggs and for once The Times lay unopened beside him. It was 8 a.m.
'Extremely soon, I hope,' said the Countess.
' 'Course, he may just tell us he's drawn a blank.'
'Well, at least he'll have to let them all leave and we can get back to something like normal.'
'I sometimes think nothin' is ever going to be normal again.'
At that moment the door of the breakfast-room was thrown violently open and they both turned towards it. A dark, pretty girl rushed across the room towards them. It was Gerry's maid.
'Marie, what on earth—' Lady Burford began.
'Oh, milord, milady, it is the Lady Geraldine. I cannot wake her! She is so still and white! Please, you must come.'
They leapt to their feet. Lady Burford gasped: 'Oh no!' and then followed the Earl, as he ran out of the room.
The Earl charged into Gerry's bedroom and ran across to the bed. Gerry was lying perfectly still on her back, only her head showing above the bedclothes. He put his hand on her forehead, then pulled back the sheets and grabbed at her wrist.
'Is she - is she . . .' The Countess, behind him, could not finish.
'I can't feel a pulse. Looking-glass, quickly!'
Marie ran to the dressing-table, grabbed a mirror and handed it to him. He sat on the edge of the bed and held it close to Gerry's mouth for a few seconds, then peered at it. 'She's breathing.'
'Oh, thank God.'
The Earl swung round to Marie. 'Find Mr Merryweather, tell him what's happened and to send Hawkins for Dr. Ingleby at once. Hurry.'
Marie rushed from the room. 'And just pray he's not out,' Lord Burford muttered.
'George, can you tell what's wrong?' The Countess was wringing her hands.
He shook his head. 'Sorry, my dear.'
'Is there anything we can do?'
'I can't think of anything. If we tried to force some brandy down her, or something, it might be absolutely the wrong thing.'
'She's - she's still breathing?'
He again put the mirror to Gerry's lips. 'Yes. But it's so shallow. Her chest's not moving at all.'
The Countess fell on her knees beside the bed and took Geraldine's hand in hers. She closed her eyes and her lips started to move silently. With a restless, jerky movement, Lord Burford stood up.
A voice spoke from the doorway. 'Can we help at all?'
It was Stella. She and Penny were standing close together, their faces horror-struck.
The Earl answered. 'Oh. No, don't think so, my dear, thank you. You can tell the others what's happened.'
'Yes, of course. Come on, Penny.'
They went but a moment later there was the sound of hurrying footsteps and Merryweather appeared. 'Hawkins is on his way, my lord. I instructed Marie to wait outside and bring the doctor straight up.'
'Good, good.'
The butler gazed past him at the wax-like figure on the bed. 'Oh, my lord, this is terrible. But she must be all right, she must.'
'It's out of our hands, Merryweather.'
'May I remain, my lord?'
'Of course.'
Merryweather sat down on an upright chair and fell silent. The Earl took out some cigarettes and lit one with fingers that trembled only slightly.
It was only a little over twenty minutes, though seeming to those in the room like twenty hours, before they again heard hasty footsteps along the corridor and Marie's voice saying: 'In there, Doctor.'
Ingleby appeared in the doorway and strode across to the bed. The Countess and Merryweather got to their feet. Lord Burford said: 'We just found her like this, Ingleby, she was fine last night.'
'Yes, her maid told me.'
He opened his bag and began his examination. He looked in her eyes with a small torch, took her pulse and blood pressure and then pulled back the bedclothes, put his hand under the crook of her leg, raised it and struck it sharply just below the knee with the side of his hand. To her parents' inexperienced eyes, there seemed a momentary delay before the lower part of her leg kicked up. Next, Ingleby gently turned her onto her face and closely scrutinised the back of her head.
At last he looked up. 'Well, I can tell you what's wrong with her.'
The Earl and Countess stared at him apprehensively.
'She's been knocked unconscious.'
'What?'
'There's a big lump on the back of her head.'
'You - mean somebody just crept into the room and hit her?'
'I can't say whether they crept into the room, but she's certainly been hit with some heavy object.' He turned her over again onto her back.
'The murderer,' Lord Burford whispered. 'She's been going round questionin' everyone, hoping to solve the case before Wilkins. Oh, why couldn't she have left well alone!'
'Will she be all right?' Lady Burford asked fearfully.
Ominously, it seemed to them, Ingleby avoided a direct answer. 'I would ideally like to get her head x-rayed, but I think it's probably safer not to move her, at least for the time being.'
'But she will regain consciousness?' Lord Burford said.
'Prognosis is notoriously difficult in the case of head injuries. She will either recover spontaneously, or—' He stopped.
'Or what, doctor?'
'Sink deeper into a coma.'
'And - and if that happens?'
'It could be days, or weeks.'
'Or longer?'
'It's possible.'
'You're saying she could be in a coma, for months, or years.'
'Let's not think that far ahead. Twenty-four hours will tell. If she has not come round by then, I will have her removed to hospital and get some x-rays taken. We should then learn more about the extent of the damage and be able to make a more accurate forecast.'
'Is there nothing you can do now?'
'I'm afraid not. It's just a question of waiting and keeping her under observation.'
The Countess sank down slowly on the bed. 'Oh, dear Lord.'
'I'm very sorry I can't be more helpful. But I can say that in the majority of head injury cases the patients do recover spontaneously.' He glanced at his watch. 'I wish I could stay longer. But unfortunately I have another emergency awaiting me. I will look in again later. If Hawkins could take me home to collect my car . . .'
The Earl shook his head. 'Have Hawkins take you wherever you need to go for the rest of the morning. We won't be needing him.'
'Oh, that's extremely kind. Thank you. Just keep her comfortable and warm.' He hurried out. Merryweather unobtrusively followed him.
The Earl and Countess looked at one another. Her lips trembled. 'Oh, George
.'
He put his arm around her shoulder. 'Bear up, my dear. She'll be all right. Gerry's a Saunders. She'll pull through.'
* * *
'She put the wind up somebody,' Stella said. 'She must have been getting close to cracking it, and the murderer realised that and decided to silence her before it was too late. No doubt thought he'd killed her.'
'He? Tommy queried.
'OK, I know we're none of us in the clear.'
Penny gave a gasp. 'You don't think the police would suspect me, do you?'
'That cop suspects everybody. If the Archbishop of Canterbury was here, he'd be a suspect in Wilkins' eyes. And I figure we're all capable of violence.'
'Oh crumbs. Do you think he'll hear about yesterday - me and Gregory?'
'Afraid so, honey. Sorry and all that.'
The three of them were in the morning-room. Tommy, seeing Penny was distressed, quickly changed the subject. 'Talking of Gregory the Great, he's conspicuous by his absence this morning. Don't suppose he's done a bunk, do you?'
'No, I saw him from my window, mooching about down by the lake,' Stella said. 'Must realise he's still the number one suspect and wants to keep out of the way.'
'And where's your father?' Tommy asked Penny.
'He's in the library, catching up on some paper work. He says he knows he's a suspect, too. It's idiotic! If everybody knew him like I do, they'd never think for a second he could do anything like that.'
'Who else is missing?' Tommy said. 'Oh, Mackenzie. Anybody seen her today?'
The girls shook their heads. 'I wonder if anybody has?' Stella said. 'Gosh, I hope she's all right. If she'd seen the attack on Gerry, and the murderer saw her, she could have been attacked, too. I think I'll go and check.'
She left the room, went upstairs, made her way to the east corridor and tapped on Jean Mackenzie's door. She was relieved when she heard her voice call 'Come in.'
Miss Mackenzie was sitting in a chair by the window. There was a book on her lap but it was closed. She looked alarmed when she saw Stella. 'Is there any news?' Stella saw that for the third time in two days her eyes were red.
'No, not yet. You know what happened, then?'
'Yes, Geraldine's maid told me.'
'We wondered if you were all right. Is something wrong?'
'Oh, Stella, I feel so guilty.'
'What about?'
'What's happened to Geraldine. It's all my fault.'
'How on earth do you figure that?'
'You all know about the lie I told - that Florrie had asked to be buried at Alderley. It came about as a result of what I now see was my obsession with mediums and séances and that sort of thing. I'm giving all that up. However, it's too late to undo the damage I have done. At first I blamed myself for Clara's death, but the Inspector assured me that after she'd made that threat at the reading, she would have been murdered wherever it had taken place. But that's not the case with this wicked attack on Geraldine. It wouldn't have happened if the reading had taken place somewhere else.'
Stella went across to her and took her hand. 'Look,' she said, 'Gerry was thoroughly enjoying herself. She knew there was danger involved. Dorry was telling me the afternoon of the funeral how Gerry had been saying to her that you have to be prepared for that sort of risk if you get involved in murder investigations. She herself would be the very last one to blame you.'
'You're very kind, my dear, but if that lovely girl - if she . . . she . . .dies, I'll never forgive myself.'
'This brooding all on your own is not good,' Stella said. She drew Miss Mackenzie to her feet. 'Now come on down to the morning-room. There's only Penny and Tommy there, and you know how you say he always cheers you up.'
'Oh, really, I don't think so.'
'I insist. And you can talk to us about Florrie. You knew her better than anyone, and she must have told you some wonderful stories over the years. I know I'd love to hear some.'
And she led the older woman, still protesting a little, from the room.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Nearly three hours had passed, during which Gerry had not stirred. The Earl and Countess had hardly spoken or moved, except when three times Lord Burford again put the mirror to Gerry's lips, afterwards giving his wife a brief reassuring nod. Then, a little after eleven, there came a light tap on the door.
It was Merryweather. 'No change, my lord?'
'Not yet.'
'Chief Inspector Wilkins is here, my lord.'
'Oh, I can't see him now.'
'He wishes to come in, my lord. He says it is important.'
'What? Oh, very well.'
Wilkins entered the room almost on tip-toe. He bowed his head stiffly to the Earl and Countess.
' 'Morning, Wilkins,' said the Earl. ' 'Fraid I can't talk about the case now.'
'No, of course, my lord. This is appalling, really appalling. I can't say how shocked I am.' He gazed down at Gerry, shaking his head slowly. Then he looked up. 'I've been given the details by Mr Merryweather and Marie. I understand you think the attacker came in here during the night and did this?'
'Seems obvious.'
'With respect, my lord, I think not.'
'Eh? What d'you mean?'
'May I ask if anyone has touched Lady Geraldine's bedroom slippers this morning?'
The Earl looked down at them. They were placed neatly side by side, close to the bed. 'No. Why d'you ask?'
'They're the wrong way round, my lord. Right on the left and left on the right. If Lady Geraldine had just lifted her feet out of them as she got into bed, they could not have got in that position. Which indicates to me that she was lifted into the bed. Either the slippers fell off, or the attacker snatched them off and let them drop, and then afterwards straightened them, without realising that they were in the wrong positions relative to each other.'
'Good gad.'
Lady Burford spoke for the first time. 'He's right, George. Something has been worrying me as wrong ever since we've been sitting here. Her dressing-gown.' She pointed to where it was draped on a hanger suspended from a hook on the back of the door. 'She never hung it up at night - just laid it across the bottom of the bed. And during the day it was always hung in the cupboard.'
Lord Burford said slowly: 'So she was up in the night.'
'Yes, my lord. Elsewhere in the house. About her investigations, no doubt.'
'And actually identified the murderer?'
'We can't say that for sure. It's possible she uncovered a secret that someone other than the killer of Mrs Saunders might have been desperate to prevent coming to light. Now, forgive me but I must get on. My investigations are complete and when I arrived I took the liberty of asking Mr Merryweather to gather all the guests in the drawing-room. I must join them.'
'You've solved the case?'
'Let's just say I have logical and coherent explanations for everything that occurred, though at this stage I cannot be certain there are not equally logical alternative ones. And the attack on Lady Geraldine is an additional complication, which I cannot as yet fit in. Anyway, my lord, I felt it only right to tell you of my plans. I don't suppose under the circumstances you yourself will want to be there.'
'Not really, Wilkins, not really. Not at all sure I can face up to it.'
'I hate to ask you, my lord, but I really do need you there, just for part of the time. There'll probably be something I want you to do.'
'I see. Well, suppose I ought to be there, really. But I don't like leaving you here on your own, Lavinia.'
'Go, George,' said the Countess. 'Ask Marie to join me. I'm sure she would like to. I'll let you know the moment there's any change.'
'Very well. What is it you want me to do, Wilkins?'
'I'll explain on the way down, my lord.'
'Come along, then.'
He started to move to the door, then suddenly stopped and turned. 'Lavinia, it's no good, I've got to tell you. I'm partly to blame for this.'
'George, what do you mean?'
'I could have prevented it, but for my laziness and stupidity. I can't explain now, but I had to get it off my chest.'
He made for the door again, inside which Wilkins was standing waiting for him. As the Earl passed him he muttered something, almost under his breath. Wilkins raised his eyebrows, gave a little shake of the head and then made to follow him. But the Countess called after him. 'Mr Wilkins!'
He came back. 'Yes, my lady?'
'What did my husband say as he passed you?'
'I think he was just talking to himself, really, not to me at all.'
'But what did he say?'
Wilkins looked decidedly embarrassed. 'It was rather odd.'
'Mr Wilkins, please.'
'He said, "Should have had a real purple candle. Rosemary, too." '
* * *
Wilkins caught up with the Earl on the stairs. 'All I want you to do, my lord, is, if you are shown a pair of cufflinks, to identify them as your own.'
'Even if they're not?'
'Oh, they will be. So say they are, even if you don't actually recognise them.'
'Very well.'
Merryweather was standing outside the drawing-room, as though on sentry duty. He opened the doors as the Earl, Wilkins and Leather, who had been waiting in the hall, approached and went in. Like those of spectators at a tennis match, eight pairs of eyes swung towards them in unison. Gregory was standing by the huge fireplace and Tommy half sitting on and half leaning against a table just inside the window. The rest were seated, Timothy and Penny on one sofa, Agatha and Dorothy on another, Stella in an easy chair and Miss Mackenzie, as if in penance and recognition of her own perceived lower social status, in a hard upright chair against the wall.
Timothy got to his feet as they entered. 'George, is there any news?'
'No, no change.'
'Penelope and I are appallingly shocked, needless to say. You do both have our heartfelt sympathy and prayers.' He sat down again.
'Thank you,' said the Earl, gruffly. 'Appreciate it.'
The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks Page 23
