Dance to Your Daddy (Mrs Bradley)

by Mitchell, Gladys

  ‘Uncle Romilly has a poor head for heights,’ said Judith, taking up the tale, ‘so he did not linger long on the nearby cliff-top, only long enough to say to me, “I can’t stay here, my dear, I must retreat. But your eyes are younger than mine. Isn’t there a man lying out on Dancing Ledge?” I looked as he pointed, before he walked away, and, of course, it was as he had said.’

  ‘I went to the coastguard station as soon as we got back to the car,’ said Romilly, ‘and told them I feared someone had fallen over the cliff, but, of course, we never dreamed it was Hubert. The police obtained my address from the coastguards and they’ve been here since yesterday harassing and harrying us.’

  ‘Has anything been heard of Willoughby, the brother?’

  ‘Not a thing. He has not written and he has not come. I wondered whether I should mention to the police that he seems to have disappeared, but it is somewhat early days to suggest that.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘Well, I would not think of using such an expression had it not been for this dreadful business about Hubert.’

  ‘You had no difficulty in identifying the body, then?’

  ‘Well, the head and face were greatly disfigured, I suppose through contact with the rocky ledge, but I had little doubt.’

  ‘Why should the police have thought that you might know who the dead man was?’

  ‘I have myself to thank for that. I was greatly upset when I first spotted the body on the ledge, and I blurted out something at the coastguard station about Hubert and Willoughby having failed to turn up at my house, and, of course, that got passed on to the police. It’s the most terrible thing! They seem prepared to treat Hubert’s death as a case of murder!’

  ‘So I gathered from Judith’s telegram. Have they anything to go on?’

  ‘I have no idea. They tell one nothing; they merely put interminable and very searching questions. I suppose they are inclined to rule out suicide, as Hubert was in holy orders, but I think they have ruled out the possibility of accident, too. Their questions suggest as much. Now you, my dear Beatrice, have had a wide experience in these matters. I told you that I had fears for my own life, and now I am beginning to wonder whether Hubert could possibly have been mistaken for me. What do you think about that?’

  ‘Well, I can hardly say, but it seems to me very unlikely. How old would Hubert have been?’

  ‘Yes, I see what you mean. Nobody knowing me can have thought that so young a man – yes, yes, I take your point, of course. But it seems inexplicable. Besides, what was he doing in the neighbourhood of Dancing Ledge? It really is nowhere near this house. He could not have been on his way to us, could he, if he made so stupid a détour as that?’

  ‘When is the murder supposed to have taken place?’

  ‘Oh, if the police know that – as, I suppose, they must do, near enough – they are keeping it to themselves. You know what they are! They never tell you anything if they can possibly help it.

  (4)

  “I could bear to go and take a look at Dancing Ledge,’ said Laura, when they had thoroughly discussed this latest visit to Galliard Hall. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?’

  ‘I do not suppose so. The police will have completed their on-the-spot investigations by the time we go, I should imagine, and the place ordinarily must be open to the public, or Romilly and Judith could not have gone there. Get out the Ordnance maps and let us decide upon the best way to get to the Ledge from here.’

  Laura did as she was told. Dancing Ledge was clearly marked. Behind it the hills rose steeply for about a quarter of a mile, and after that the slope was more gentle. Working inland from the cliffs, nothing but a footpath was marked until the map showed the secondary road which ran between Kingston and Langton Matravers and finished at Swanage.

  ‘Bournemouth and Sandbanks for us,’ said Laura, ‘and then over the ferry, don’t you think? Looks a bit of a scramble to get down to the Ledge. Is Romilly capable of it?’

  ‘I shall know better when we have explored the terrain for ourselves. I wonder whether Rosamund would care to come with us? The invitation would come better from you than from me, I think.’

  ‘Is that an order?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dame Beatrice thoughtfully, ‘I think it is. I should like to know how she reacts to the suggestion. Approach the matter bluntly. Simply tell her we are going to Dancing Ledge, and ask her whether she would like to accompany us.’

  ‘Does she know about the body?’

  Dame Beatrice favoured her secretary with a crocodile grin.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she does,’ she replied. ‘There is an account of it in the newspaper which arrived this morning and I am perfectly sure that she has read it.’

  Laura found Rosamund in the library and issued the invitation in the forthright manner advised by Dame Beatrice.

  ‘Dancing Ledge?’ said Rosamund, turning away from the bookshelf she had been studying. ‘Why should I want to go there?’

  ‘For the sake of an outing, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you, I’d rather stay here. Henri is going to teach me to cook. I am to help get tonight’s dinner ready.’

  ‘Oh, well, keep the arsenic well away from the soup,’ said Laura lightly, glad that they were not to have Rosamund’s company on the expedition. She reported the brief exchange to her employer.

  ‘Didn’t turn a hair at the mention of Dancing Ledge,’ she said. ‘Just said she’d rather stay here because Henri was going to teach her to cook. Do you suppose her childlike appearance and innocent air have bewitched the staff?’

  ‘I think they feel sorry for her. I gave them an account of her orphaned condition – that was for Zena’s benefit – and dropped a hint to Henri that she was a patient of mine who was suffering from melancholia and must be taken out of herself as much as possible. I took Celestine more fully into my confidence, for she is intelligent enough to realise that there is nothing melancholic about Rosamund. Well, let us be off. The days still draw in very early, and we have to allow ourselves time to cover the ground after we have reached our objective. Tell Henri to put us up some sandwiches, and perhaps it would be best for us to use your car, and for you to drive it.’

  ‘Fine! I suppose you want to leave George at home to help keep an eye on Rosamund.’

  ‘I want George to stay behind to keep an eye on the other car. If he were to drive us in mine, there is just the chance that Rosamund, if she can drive, might take it into her head to go off in your car and then she might run into some sort of danger. As I have taken her out of Romilly’s sphere of influence, an accident to her might place me in an invidious position.’

  ‘You do think she’s irresponsible, then?’

  ‘I did not care much about the Ophelia exhibition. It was most extravagant and unnecessary. Irresponsible, however, is not the word I would have chosen. The point is that, having, one might almost say, abducted her, I must exercise the greatest care to see that she comes to no harm and that Romilly has no opportunity to contact her.’

  ‘There’s something you’re not telling me,’ said Laura.

  ‘My suspicions are possibly unfounded, unkind, and unworthy of me,’ Dame Beatrice replied, ‘so we had better leave it at that.’

  (5)

  The trackway to Dancing Ledge, indicated by an unofficial signpost easily missed unless one was looking out for it, was a roughly-made little road much too narrow to allow two cars to pass. It led to a large house with outbuildings, and for a short distance the road was better surfaced, presumably by the owners of the house, for it deteriorated again beyond it. So far it had been bordered by trees and ragged hedges, but suddenly it ended on open pasture and some farm buildings came in sight, together with a notice which forbade parking on the verges but offered facilities for this at the farm.

  Laura had driven with extreme caution over the very rough parts of the road, and, in any case, she had to pull up when she reached the farm gate. A comely young woman emerged from the buil
ding, smiled, asked a shilling for a parking fee, and indicated where they might leave the car.

  After that, it was country walking. There were gates to be opened and shut, fixed wooden barriers to duck under, and a stile, consisting of two iron bars, to be climbed. Dame Beatrice, thin and wiry, and still remarkably agile considering her years, made nothing of these obstacles, and needed no assistance from Laura. On the far side of the last barrier they had to begin the steep descent which they had seen indicated by the contour lines on the map. It was rough and difficult in places, and they took their time.

  ‘Better keep on the grass,’ suggested Laura. ‘The path is on chalk, and is bound to be slippery this time of year.’

  From the top of the slope they had already seen the sea. The countryside was gloriously open, but stone walls and wire fences marked off the various pastures. To the right was Saint Aldhelm’s Head, and beneath their feet, when at last they reached the grassy top of the cliff, lay Dancing Ledge, a long, flat platform of rock parallel with the almost straight line of the coast.

  ‘I suppose the body was found out there on the Ledge itself,’ said Laura, pointing to where the sea, in the calm air (for it was an almost windless day, unusual on that coast at that early time of the year), lapped lazily in tiny cream-topped ripples. ‘How about if I beetled down and took a closer look?’

  Knowing that she wanted to do this, Dame Beatrice agreed, and watched her as she made the scrambling descent. The cliff, at this point, was not high, and, in spite of the fact that the way down, worn smooth by the shoes of summer visitors, was very slippery, Laura negotiated it without difficulty and was soon standing on the broken ground where the cliff face, in former times, had been quarried away.

  She soon returned, and announced that there was nothing more to be seen than could be descried, perhaps better, from where Dame Beatrice was standing. Then they began the steep climb back to the farm.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re thinking,’ said Laura, as they halted, half-way up, to take breath and look back at the misty view, ‘but whoever got poor Hubert down this way had his work cut out.’

  ‘There are two ways in which it could most easily be done,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Either the corpse was not a corpse when the descent was made, but was killed on the sea-shore itself and then pushed on to the Ledge, or else it was brought round by boat. This was a known spot for smugglers, and it was perfectly possible, so I read, to get a boat up to the Ledge in calm weather to land contraband cargo. I think the first theory is the more likely one, but that is for the police to decide.’

  ‘What, then, is our next move?’

  ‘I think it might be interesting to take tea with Romilly and give him an account of our excursion. His last question to me was whether I thought that Hubert could possibly have been mistaken for Romilly himself. I would say that it seems to me extremely unlikely. As to theorising about the means of bringing the body to the Ledge, I am sure I am right. Even if it had been transported as far as the farm by car, it is clear that it would have had to be manhandled from the farm onwards. This could scarcely have been done by daylight, or by one person, and I cannot see that it would be possible after dark, especially at this time of year and on such a rough and slippery path.’

  ‘Besides, there are those over-and-under barriers, put up, I suppose, by the farm people, to stop the passage of cars over their land. I don’t suppose there were any barriers at all when the smugglers were operating, but even they must have had their work cut out, even if they parked the contraband at the farm, as I suppose they did. Up to the farmhouse it must be the best part of a mile from the Ledge, and some of it is horribly rough and steep, and going down is as bad as coming up.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I think we must rule out the possibility that the corpse was carried by the way we have come. The police will have come to the same conclusion. Even if more than one person was involved, the operation would be so hazardous that I cannot think anybody would conceive of it.’

  ‘Of course, we don’t know yet – and I suppose we shan’t, until we hear the medical evidence at the inquest – the cause of the death, do we?’

  They found Romilly and Judith in the same state of alarm and despondency as that in which Dame Beatrice had left them. Romilly, however, cheered up at the sight of them, and Judith rang for tea with an alacrity which suggested that she also welcomed their visit.

  ‘So you have been occupying yourself on my behalf,’ said Romilly, when the tea-things had been cleared away. ‘I had so much hoped you would. It is extremely good of you, Beatrice. The police have not troubled us again, but, as I think I told you yesterday, they want to question everybody who was staying here. I’m afraid my little jokes have had a most unfortunate aftermath. What do you propose to do now? Dare I hope that you and this charming young lady, your secretary, will stay here for a few days and see us through our ordeal? I am sure we have not seen the last of the police, and I should welcome your advice and support.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sword Dance—Kirkby Malzeard

  ‘Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn But one to dance with.’

  The Taming of the Shrew.

  * * *

  (1)

  ‘My first duty, as I see it,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘is to return home to be with Rosamund. If, as you say, the police wish to question everyone who was staying at Galliard Hall at the time (so far as this is known) of Hubert’s death, then my place is with the child.’

  ‘But you’ll come back?’ urged Romilly. ‘I need you here. I am not accustomed to have dealings with the police.’

  ‘I hope to come back, in due course. Meanwhile, there is always your lawyer if you need advice. I assume you have already made contact with him.’

  ‘Well, no, but I suppose I had better do so. The police seem to think it odd that Judith and I should have chanced upon the spot where the body was lying. I was compelled to protect myself by explaining what had taken us there.’

  ‘I see that Rosamund undoubtedly will need me to safeguard her interests when the police call at my house.’

  ‘I wish you were staying here, at least for today and tomorrow. I quite anticipated that you would be on hand when the police pay us their next visit. It may even be this afternoon. If not, it is certain to be tomorrow. Could you not stay to dinner and spend the night here? It will be no trouble to Judith to provide a bed for Mrs Gavin.’

  ‘She can have Tancred’s room,’ said Judith at once. ‘The maids have put it to rights.’

  ‘It is very kind of you, but I feel we must get back to Rosamund. I take it that you have given the police my address.’

  ‘We had no choice. We had to account for the whereabouts of all of you. I could be certain of where you and Trilby would be, and equally so in the case of Humphrey and Binnie, but I could give no exact address for Tancred, for, beyond mentioning that he was staying in Shaftesbury, he added no details, and the address to which I wrote when I invited him was a London one. However, they have their way of tracking people down.’

  Amabel came out to the car when the visitors had taken their leave. She said, when the window was let down, ‘Please, Dame Beatrice, mum, could I speak to you? It’s the police, mum. Voilert and Oi, us don’t fancy stoppen in a place where the police keeps comen.’

  ‘No, mum,’ said Violet, who had followed her out.

  ‘Keep coming? Why, how many times have they called?’

  ‘Twoice a’ready, and comen again tonoight or tomorrow, so Mester warned us. Fritten us, they do.’

  ‘There is no need for you to feel frightened. You certainly cannot leave in the middle of their enquiries. They might think that you had something to hide. In any case, I am quite sure they wouldn’t allow you to go.’

  ‘But us don’t know nothen about what happened to the poor gentleman, mum, and what us don’t know us can’t say, can us now?’

  ‘Do you think Amabel was telling the whole truth?’ asked Lau
ra, as the car approached the great gates.

  ‘I am convinced she was not. I saw, as you did, her sister’s tug on her apron. There is something they both know, and it is the knowledge which frightens them, not the police as such.’

  ‘You didn’t try to get it out of them, I noticed.’

  ‘At such an early stage I doubt whether it would have been worth the effort. Besides, I do not think they would have answered a direct question. There are other means to the same end.’

  ‘Have you any idea what it is they know?’

  ‘I have as many theories as there were guests, servants and residents at Galliard Hall last week. The most likely one, so far as I can see at present (which, I may add, is almost no distance at all), is something to do with the non-appearance of Hubert and Willoughby at Galliard Hall at the time for which they were invited.’

  ‘But that might be fearfully important!’

  ‘It might. Time will show. Meanwhile, I shall be very glad indeed to get back to Rosamund.’

  They were met at the front door by Celestine, who was quivering with righteous wrath.

  ‘Figure to yourself, madame, the police have come here!’

  ‘Oh, yes? I will see them as soon as I have removed my outdoor things.’

  ‘But they are no longer here, madame. I sent them away. “Never,” I said, “do I admit intruders when madame and Madame Gavin are both out of the house. How do I ascertain,” I asked them, “that you are not thieves and assassins?” They show me little cards. I pouf at their little cards. “Forgeries,” I say. “If not, madame will know, when she comes in. I have heard,” I say, “of warrants to search. Have you such warrants?” They say there will be no search, but only a few little questions to the jeune fille madame brings home with her. “There is also a little baby in the house,” I tell them. “Shall I have a little baby wake up parmi le bruit de pas, le bruit de pas, comme les chevaux de charrette, made by your big, ugly boots? Non” I say, “but certainly not, messieurs.”’