A Death in the Family

by Hazel Holt

  I bit back a retort and said, ‘If you’re sure. You really shouldn’t have come out in this weather.’

  ‘No really, I’m perfectly well.’

  There was a brief silence, neither of us quite knowing what to say.

  ‘When do you go back to Bristol?’ I asked.

  ‘Next week I think, if Bernard has finished his research.’

  ‘I expect you’ll be glad to be home,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She seemed about to add something to this brief reply, but apparently thought better of it and sat there, quietly stroking Foss.

  ‘I can’t remember – my memory is getting really dreadful – you have two children, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. My daughter Christine, and my son Luke.’

  ‘That’s nice. What do they do?’

  ‘Christine is married – Jonathan, her husband, is a financial adviser – but she teaches, like Bernard.’

  ‘Have they any children?’

  ‘Oh no. Christine has a very absorbing job, she’s head of department at a sixth form college, and you know what young people are like these days, putting off having a family till they’re in their late thirties. So I suppose,’ she gave the nervous little laugh again, ‘I’ll have to wait for my grandchildren.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Fortunately Thea, that’s Michael’s wife, had always longed for a family. She was a solicitor, and a very good one, but she gave up work when Alice was born. It’s lovely having them so near. I see Alice often and Thea and I are really good friends.’

  ‘You’re very lucky,’ Janet said wistfully.

  ‘What about your son, is he married? What does he do?’

  ‘He runs a small restaurant and, no, he’s not married yet.’

  ‘Oh well, there’s plenty of time, boys always seem to marry later than girls. How exciting about the restaurant. Whereabouts is it?’

  ‘In Bristol. Stoke Bishop.’

  ‘It must be very hard work.’

  ‘Oh it is, but he’s making a great success of it.’ She spoke with some animation, quite different from when she described her daughter’s life.

  ‘And you don’t have a job?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh no.’ She seemed shocked that I should have considered such an idea. ‘No, my job is looking after Bernard – that’s what he always says, and that’s a full-time job!’ Again the nervous laugh. ‘Of course, before I married I was a secretary – actually I was the school secretary at Bernard’s old school, that’s how we met. But I gave up my job when we were married.’

  ‘To look after Bernard?’

  ‘That’s right. Though, of course his mother was alive then. She was something of an invalid and needed a lot of care.’

  ‘I see.’ And I did see. Bernard seizing the opportunity to secure a slave for himself and a nurse for his mother. ‘Do you have any family?’

  ‘No, both my parents died when I was quite young and I was an only child.’

  Poor Janet, a perfect victim ready to hand.

  ‘Of course, I did do some secretarial work for Bernard at home, especially after he got his headship. There were a lot of things that he preferred not to give to the school secretary.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose there were.’

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got very good computer skills – Bernard gets quite impatient with me sometimes. He says I must go on a course, and I suppose I will have to, but I do dread it, trying to manage new things, and all the others will be so young and able to cope.’

  ‘I’m sure you could cope too,’ I said, trying to put back just a little of the self-confidence that Bernard had obviously destroyed. ‘And I expect there’ll be people of all ages.’

  Tris, who’d been asleep in his basket in the kitchen and had woken up and found he was missing something, came bustling into the sitting room. He saw Foss sitting smugly on Janet’s lap and trotted over and sat by her feet. She leant over carefully and stroked him.

  ‘He’s lovely. You are lucky,’ she said again.

  I smiled. ‘They’re great company,’ I said, ‘you can’t be lonely with two demanding animals.’

  We chatted for a while about general things and I was surprised at how easy she was when not overshadowed by her horrible husband. It was plain that she had more or less sunk her own personality (whatever it might have been originally) into the sort of subservient shadow he demanded.

  The sound of the wind suddenly howling down the chimney startled Tris who leapt to his feet and began to bark. Janet looked at her watch and said, ‘Goodness, is that the time? I must be getting back. Bernard will be wondering what’s become of me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go yet,’ I said. ‘It’s only half past nine. Have another cup of tea or something.’

  Janet shook her head. ‘No, it’s very kind of you, but I mustn’t, really.’

  She lifted Foss carefully and, getting up, put him in the chair she had vacated, giving him a farewell stroke. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said. ‘It’s been so nice talking to you and seeing the animals. Such a lovely change…’

  She really seemed to have enjoyed herself and I felt a wave of pity for someone who had been deprived of such simple pleasures.

  ‘I wonder,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I wonder if I might ring for a taxi?’

  ‘Well, of course,’ I said in some surprise. ‘I hadn’t realised – I thought you’d come by car.’

  She shook her head. ‘Bernard doesn’t like me driving the car,’ she said, then, seeing my expression she added, ‘not at night.’

  ‘There’s no need for a taxi, though,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you back.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she protested. ‘I couldn’t put you out like that, especially on such a terrible night!’

  ‘It’s no bother. Just hang on a minute while I change my shoes and get my coat.’

  It was certainly a wretched night. The rain was very heavy and although the wind had dropped a little there was still enough to drive it slant-wise across the road making driving unpleasant. Janet, sitting beside me, was silent and I was too busy to talk, having to concentrate on peering through the rain and murk, dazzled by the refracted light of the headlights of the oncoming cars. The road – it was really a lane – leading to the cottage was very narrow and I prayed that we wouldn’t meet any other vehicle since I knew I’d find it almost impossible to reverse in these circumstances.

  I was relieved to see the lights of the cottage shining out in the darkness, but as I pulled up onto the grass verge beside the gate I realised that there was so much light because the front door was open.

  ‘What on earth’s happening?’ I exclaimed as I got out of the car. ‘Why ever is the door open on a night like this?’

  Janet got out more slowly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said nervously. She seemed disinclined to move towards the house.

  ‘Well, come along then,’ I said rather sharply, ‘we’re getting soaked out here.’

  The front door was not fully open but half ajar, almost as if the wind had blown it open. I went inside into the little hall and Janet followed me. I shut the door carefully behind us.

  ‘Hello,’ I called out. ‘Bernard, are you there?’

  There was no reply. Instead silence, silence that had an almost positive quality in spite of the sounds of the wind and rain outside. There were two doors leading into the hall. The door of what I took to be the sitting room was on the left. It, too, was half open so I went in. As well as the main wall lights a lamp on the table was lit. A glowing coal-effect electric fire was also on, giving the room a cosy air. On one side of the fireplace was a low-backed armchair. Because the back was low I could see the head of the person sitting in it. For a moment I didn’t really take in what I was seeing, then I heard Janet beside me cry out and I realised that she too had seen that the person in the armchair had been struck over the head and was not moving, not even at the sound of Janet’s cry.

  I moved slowly forward and forced myself to look more closely. Bernard was
lying in the chair, his head lolling backwards. He was obviously dead. I made myself touch the side of his neck as I’d been taught in first aid, but there was no pulse. The blow to the head must have been quite severe, though there was not a lot of blood. I found that I was trembling and I felt very sick, but I knew that I had to pull myself together. I clasped my hands tightly together and, making a great effort, I turned to Janet who was standing very still just inside the door.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said gently. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. He’s dead.’

  She stayed there in the doorway, putting out her hand to the doorframe as if for support. She was deathly pale and I was afraid she was going to faint so I went towards her. But she just stood there, her lips moving though no sound came from them. I put my arm round her shoulder.

  ‘Is there anywhere else we can go so that you can sit down?’ I asked.

  She made a feeble gesture to the other door leading off the hall and I led her into the kitchen. It was quite a large room, furnished as a typical farmhouse kitchen, which is what summer visitors like. There was a large pine table in the middle of the room with four chairs round it. I helped her into one of the chairs and she sat still as a statue, her face completely blank. I became aware that the kitchen was very cold and, looking around, I saw that the glass panel of the back door had been smashed and that door was open too.

  ‘Burglars!’ I said, and for one horrible moment I thought that the person who had done all this might be still in the house, but then I remembered the open front door and told myself that whoever it was would have gone.

  Janet had made no response and I went over to the sink and poured her a glass of water. It seemed a feeble enough gesture but it appeared to revive her a little.

  ‘Is he – is he really…? Should we phone an ambulance?’

  ‘I’m afraid he is dead – though I’ll call an ambulance if you think we should.’

  ‘I don’t know…I don’t know. What should we do?’

  ‘I think we ought to call the police.’

  ‘The police?’ She sounded bewildered.

  ‘They should be told as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose…’

  She made no move and sat still and silent.

  ‘Would you like me to do it?’

  ‘Do it?’ she repeated.

  ‘Phone the police.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I suppose there’s a phone in the other room?’ I asked and moved towards the door. ‘Though I suppose I ought not to touch anything. I’ll use my mobile.’ I took it out of my bag and dialled. ‘Oh bother,’ I said, ‘I can’t get a signal in here. I’ll have to go outside.’

  Janet looked at me with something like panic. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she said, ‘please don’t leave me.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute,’ I said soothingly. ‘You stay here and don’t touch anything.’

  She shuddered. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I won’t touch anything.’

  I went back through the hall and out of the front door. The wind had dropped and the rain was now only a slight drizzle. I had to go up the path as far as the road before I got a signal.

  When I’d made the call I went back into the house. Janet was sitting at the kitchen table just as I’d left her. She was obviously still in shock.

  ‘They said there’s a police car in the area,’ I said reassuringly, ‘they won’t be long.’

  She nodded but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Janet,’ I said. ‘It’s a terrible thing to have happened and it’s been an awful shock for you, I know. You’ve been very brave.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I just can’t believe…’

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I know about not touching anything, but I’m going to make you a cup of tea – you really need something stronger than water!’

  There was water in the electric kettle and I found a packet of camomile tea bags and we sat in silence listening to the sound of the kettle boiling and waiting for the police to arrive.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After what seemed like a very long time we heard the sound of a car drawing up outside and a loud knock on the front door. I looked at Janet, but she shook her head so I went to open it. Two policemen stood on the doorstep.

  ‘Sergeant Harris and Police Constable Fraser,’ one of them said, holding up his warrant card.

  To my relief I knew one of the policemen.

  ‘Hello, Bob,’ I said, ‘thank goodness you’re here.’

  We stood crowded in the hall, but I didn’t feel like going back into the sitting room. I opened the door and said, ‘He’s in there. His wife and I came in and found him like that. She’s in the kitchen – as you can imagine she’s very upset.’ I pushed the door a little further open. ‘We didn’t touch anything.’

  I moved aside to let them into the room and went back into the kitchen. Janet was still sitting motionless at the table but I was glad to see that she wasn’t looking so ill.

  ‘The police are here,’ I said, ‘and fortunately I know one of them – Bob Harris, I’ve known him since he was a child. His father used to do some gardening for me when he retired from the police force.’

  She nodded briefly, but didn’t say anything, and, since there didn’t seem anything that I could usefully say, we sat in silence until there was a knock on the kitchen door and the two of them came in.

  Bob Harris addressed Janet. ‘Well now, Mrs…?’

  ‘This is Mrs Prior,’ I said since Janet appeared unable to answer, ‘the wife of… He is – was – a sort of cousin of mine.’

  ‘And what time did you arrive back here Mrs Prior?’ Bob asked.

  Janet shook her head and looked appealingly at me. ‘I don’t know – after half past nine, wasn’t it, Sheila? You said it was half past when we left, didn’t you? I’m sorry…’ her voice trailed away.

  Bob Harris, obviously deciding that he wasn’t going to get anything coherent from her at the moment, turned to me.

  ‘You got here, when?’

  ‘About a quarter to ten. Mrs Prior had been spending the evening with me so I gave her a lift home. The front door was open when we got here and, as you see, the back door had been broken into.’

  Bob Harris went over and examined the door. ‘Glass panel broken and key turned from the inside.’ The police constable noted down the details in his notebook. ‘You didn’t see or hear anybody in the house?’

  ‘Well, no. I suppose we should have looked – there might have been someone upstairs, but, quite honestly, we were both too shocked and too frightened to go and look. Besides, when I saw the back door like this and finding the front door open, I assumed that whoever it was – a burglar I suppose – had got away.’

  ‘Was anything missing?’

  ‘I don’t know. We neither of us felt much like staying in that room…’

  ‘Very understandable. We’ll have to go into all that later, when Mrs Prior feels up to it. Meanwhile, madam,’ he continued, turning to Janet, ‘perhaps you could tell me what time you left here.’

  She seemed to have collected herself a little and though her voice was still a little shaky she answered quite calmly. ‘It was about seven o’clock. I was due at Mrs Malory’s at eight, but Bernard asked me to get him some indigestion tablets – he’d had indigestion this afternoon. I said the chemist’s would be shut but he said I could get some from the supermarket. I rang for a taxi and went to the supermarket first – the taxi driver waited while I went in and got the tablets. Then I went on to Mrs Malory. I didn’t mean to stay so long, but we were having such a nice chat that I didn’t notice the time. It was about half past nine when we left. I was a bit concerned that my husband would be worried because I was late coming back, but…’ her voice broke.

  ‘That’s very helpful,’ Bob was saying when there was another knocking at the front door. The constable went to answer it and then, coming back, put his head round the door and said, ‘It’s SOCO, Bob. They’re gettin
g on with things.’

  I caught a glimpse of white-clad figures passing through the hall and sounds of activity in the sitting room. Bob Harris looked enquiringly at me.

  ‘If both you ladies are up to it, perhaps we could just go and see if anything is missing.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, with a briskness I was far from feeling, ‘of course we’ll come.’

  Janet got slowly to her feet and followed me to the door. We all trooped upstairs but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen there. The two bedrooms, furnished for summer letting, were impersonal, only a very few objects – suitcases, toilet bags, a few clothes hanging behind one of the doors – indicated that the cottage was inhabited. In the bathroom a tooth-glass half full of water and a towel, fallen from the rail onto the floor, were the only signs of occupation. Automatically, I leant over and picked up the towel, putting it back onto the rail. Bob Harris turned to Janet.

  ‘Nothing unusual here?’ he asked.

  She shook her head and we all went downstairs again. In the hall he said, ‘We really need to check the sitting room. Will you be all right?’

  Janet nodded and we went in. It wasn’t so dreadful after all because there was so much activity going on, other figures moving about their several tasks, occasionally making low-voiced remarks to each other, so that our eyes were not focused on the silent, unmoving figure in the chair.

  ‘Can you see if anything is missing or out of place?’ Bob asked.

  Janet looked round the room, bewildered and, for a while, silent. Then she said, ‘Not that I can see…’

  She stood still, passive as ever, waiting, as she must have done for many years, for someone to tell her what to do next.

  ‘If there’s nothing else?’ I said and led her back into the kitchen.

  ‘I expect Bob Harris would like us both to make a proper statement,’ I said. ‘Do you feel like doing it now or would you rather wait and go down and do it at the police station tomorrow?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind – it doesn’t matter – now, if you like.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  I went back into the sitting room. ‘Would you like to take our statements now?’ I asked Bob. ‘I’d really like to get her out of here.’