An Uncommon Murder

by Anabel Donald

  ‘Not necessarily that. Action, my own action, of some kind. That’s what I meant about not following maps. At the time, I saw the scope for action as limited, effectively, to sexual action. I must have been deranged. A hormonal disturbance, possibly.’

  ‘You mustn’t say that. The feminists wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘The feminist movement does not command my allegiance. I cannot subscribe to a system of thought which functions mainly by ignoring inconvenient but self-evident realities. No, Alex. My behaviour could more usefully be analysed by the disciples of Freud. I was in my late thirties, marriage seemed very unlikely, and if it came, it would not, I felt, have been with anyone as – as – experienced as I guessed Lord Sherwin to be.’

  ‘You thought he’d be a fantastic screw.’

  She laughed. ‘Now you are teasing me, but yes, I suppose that is what I thought.’

  ‘He might have been awful.’

  ‘You must also remember that I had little choice. I was not exactly besieged with offers. I considered very carefully. Looking back, I suppose I was also influenced by the interest that he had shown in me. Not romantic interest, you understand. Simple human interest.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘He asked me to tell him the story of my life. Of course, he did not mean that literally. I imagine he expected to hear a considerably abridged version. Nevertheless, he had spoken to me as if I was a human being, with experiences and feelings.’ She looked at me, sharply. ‘What are you forbearing to say, Alex?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I was deluding myself, of course. It didn’t seem delusion at the time. I felt Lady Sherwin need not be a factor. She had refused Lord Sherwin his marital rights since the birth of Candida eight years before.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘My dear Alex, everyone at Ashtons Hall, including the outdoor servants, knew it. Lord Sherwin’s voice—’

  ‘Was resonant and carrying. I remember. What did you decide?’

  ‘I decided to – see if the offer was still open. My decision was precipitated by my experiences during a visit to an old schoolfriend, Caroline, and her family. She had been a good friend for many years. It had been Caroline’s aunt I had stayed with during my first fateful visit to Kenya, and it was through Caroline’s aunt that I obtained my first employment in Kenya. Caroline and I had corresponded faithfully over the years, and met whenever she visited her aunt. Naturally she had pressed me to stay when I returned to England. I was reluctant, partly because, as she had a husband, three children and a small house in Orpington, I knew hospitality would not be easy.’

  ‘But you went.’

  ‘Yes. Early in November, I went. Caroline was kindness itself and her family made me very welcome, but I was uncomfortable. It was all so – domestic. They had family jokes. I was expected to admire the children.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’

  ‘Uncharitable as it must sound, I didn’t. They were, I thought, ill-disciplined, ill-educated and unintelligent. They found me petty and foolish; they imitated my manner of speech. I am sure they meant it kindly, but it was a busman’s holiday. By then I was less than fond of young people, whom I viewed as work.The ten-year-old girl, Leila, was learning the piano, much against her will. The supervision of her practice sessions fell to me. I have never much admired the little music book of Anna Magdalena Bach, but in justice to the composer I must suppose that Anna Magdalena had at least some talent for the instrument. Caroline herself – I may have been over-sensitive, but she seemed to condescend to me, as if my own lack of children barred me from full membership in the human race, I returned from Orpington determined to take my chances with Lord Sherwin.’

  She looked at me, appealingly.

  ‘It seems fair enough to me,’ I said. It did. I didn’t add that it also seemed sure to end in tears, because it so emphatically had, and the superiority of hindsight is an occupational hazard I try to avoid.

  ‘You are, of course, of a different generation, with a much more liberal attitude to sex.’

  ‘It used to be. It’s all gone difficult again now.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Aids and condoms. The end of the one-night stand, mid-eighties some time.’

  ‘Would you say that was generally true?’ Miss P. was noticeably calmer. Nothing seemed to suppress her desire for information. If she’d been born forty years later, she’d have made a good researcher. Or a good almost anything, come to that.

  ‘Depends how cautious you are, but for many people, yes, I think so. Have you ever seen the James Bond films?’

  ‘Those made during the nineteen-seventies. When I was a house-mistress it was sometimes part of my duties to escort the girls to the cinema. At one school particularly the headmistress indulged the girls excessively, I thought, in such matters as parties and treats, to compensate for the inadequacies of the provision in other areas, such as qualified teachers, facilities and hygienic accommodation.’

  ‘James Bond is a good social indicator. Recently he only beds one girl a film.’

  ‘I can imagine that that would make substantial inroads into the plots, as I remember them. Thank you, Alex, but we have had enough distracting conversation, I think. Shall we move on?’

  ‘OK. Where shall we move to?’ No answer. ‘Go on about Rollo,’ I nudged. She didn’t hesitate.

  ‘I was in a difficult position. How was I to – offer myself to Lord Sherwin? I could not go to my employer’s bedroom, uninvited, and I suspected that he would find any stratagem of mine as transparent as I found the stratagems of my pupils. I watched and waited. Latish one evening, I went to the library, ostensibly in search of a book. I passed his study door, which was ajar. He called me in and offered me a drink, which I accepted. He admired my blouse. I told him it had an antique lace trim. He said as long as it wasn’t trimming an antique, he didn’t give a damn,’ She looked at me anxiously. ‘What are you thinking, Alex?’

  I was thinking that Rollo’s techniques should have been remaindered before the First World War. Perhaps it was the way he told them.

  She went on, without being pressed. She liked talking about Rollo. ‘We sat down. He made a jocular reference to his daughters, something like “How are things in the nursery? Rabbits nibbling their school-work, are they?” Then he asked me why I had come. I said I had been thinking over what he had said the last time we met. He evidently did not remember what he had said: he may not even have remembered the occasion. I realised then, forcibly, how insignificant I was in his eyes.’ She paused, hurt and perhaps insulted by the memory. Had she killed him partly because she was slighted? ‘He made me feel foolish,’ she said. ‘He asked me why I was there. I told him I had come to the library for a book, but he laughed. He said that I had come specifically in pursuit of him. I denied it, but he was right, of course. He even described what I had done. He said, “You waited till Crisp locked up and Farrell and Rosalind went to bed, then you brushed your hair, and pinched your cheeks and put on your best blouse and a bit of lipstick, and came to find me.” I could hardly deny it. I blushed. I have always had an unfortunate tendency to blush.’

  ‘I’ve noticed.’

  ‘Then he said, “Come over here.” He extended his hands to me, palm up. He said I had beautiful hands. Then he kissed my fingers, lightly.’

  There, Miss Potter stuck. ‘He kissed your fingers? Then what?’ I prompted. Silence. ‘You obviously remember it very clearly. Did you write about it in your memoirs? Can I read it?’

  ‘No. No. I omitted any mention of a relationship between us. My memoirs are not – always absolutely frank. I was humiliated, I think.’

  ‘Humiliated because you went to bed with him?’

  ‘No. Humiliated because I didn’t.’

  That did surprise me. Rollo was evidently a successful operator. He had a reputation to soften her up, he took enough trouble to pay her flattering attention, and she’d already committed herself in her own mind. A persistent garden g
nome could have had her, surely? ‘What happened? Why did you wimp out?’

  ‘I didn’t. I felt like it, of course. I was thoroughly self-conscious and close to panic, but his kisses were very calming.’

  ‘Calming?’

  ‘To my fears. He seemed to know what he was doing. No, it was Lord Sherwin’s decision not to . . .’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My dear, I wish I knew. I’ve considered it, often. Immediately after that night, until I thought I saw him in bed with Rosalind, my mind was filled with it, and I never could decide.’

  ‘What actually happened?’

  ‘We kissed a little. Then he said. “You’re a serious Mouse, aren’t you? Better get off upstairs before you turn into a pumpkin.” ’

  ‘Those were his exact words?’

  ‘Yes. I wrote them in my diary, immediately. They were obscure to me then, and have remained so.’

  ‘What tone of voice did he use? Apart from resonant?’

  ‘Gentle. Amused. Rather tender I found it very affecting. Alex, I wish I understood his motives. Especially now I know that he was not in fact involved with Rosalind. I was so mistaken in him, for so long.’

  ‘And you killed him.’

  She bowed her head. I passed her a Kleenex. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. I fished in my pocket and gave her a barley sugar.

  ‘Bay of Biscay time,’ I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After two barley sugars and five more Kleenex Miss P. was back on line. ‘D’you want a break?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure how much she could manage at a time. The stimulation of talking about Rollo had ebbed: she looked every day of her age and very tired. We were already past Banbury. I’d left the motorway too soon and slowed down to forty, but even if we crawled we’d soon be there and I wanted to hear her out before I had to start picking locks. Besides, breaking and entering is best done under cover of darkness and it was only about half-past two. Even in Warwickshire, the November sun couldn’t set before half-past three. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you, my dear, but no. We must press on.’

  I drove more and more slowly, in silence apart from the swish of the windscreen wipers. They were very up-market wipers: I enjoyed the choice of five settings. Miss P. was too preoccupied to notice that we were being overtaken by a determined cyclist. ‘I must admit it seems as if you were right, to a certain extent,’ she said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘It does help to talk about what happened.’

  ‘Shining light into dark places brings the spiders down to size,’ I said, trying to sound as if that was always a good thing. I didn’t know how she would feel when she was left with tiny, withered spiders, rather than a tragic secret.

  ‘Let us continue,’ said Miss Potter decisively. ‘I’d like to hear your views,’ she said. ‘Why do you think Lord Sherwin sent me away?’

  ‘All kinds of possibilities. Do you want best scenario or worst scenario?’

  ‘Worst scenario.’

  ‘You were a lousy kisser.’

  ‘That was what I feared. Not exactly in those terms, but along those lines. I simply wasn’t attractive enough.’

  ‘I was joking,’ I said.

  Her look was half-reproachful, half-impatient. ‘This is important to me, Alex.’

  I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. ‘It is and it isn’t. Miss P. For one thing, it’s done and over long ago. For another, we’re never going to know what Rollo meant or intended. You didn’t know at the time and you’re the only witness we’ve got, and a very interested witness. Yes, I can think of reasons Rollo sent you away with a pat on the head. He was meeting someone else and needed to get rid of you. He didn’t feel like sex. You bored him. He’d taken a vow of celibacy that morning. He was too drunk to get it up. He had the clap. He didn’t want to take the risk of you coming over all infatuated and making trouble. He knew you didn’t really want to do it even though you thought you did. He knew you’d regret it in the morning. He didn’t want to take advantage of you. He had your best interests at heart, I don’t know which it was.’

  ‘Is it possible he had my best interests at heart?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That is what I hoped.’ She was looking at me, anxiously. I’d battered her enough, and who knew? It could have been magnanimity, Rollo the gentleman and aristocrat.

  ‘You were there. If that’s what you think, that’s probably what it was.’

  ‘At the time, I was bewildered. Very relieved; I had been wrong, I knew it, even to consider such a thing. I was grateful for his thoughtfulness. That was my eventual reaction. But at first I felt cheated, belittled, and when I saw Rosalind with him I felt angry and sick. Not because of Rosalind. Because of him. He hadn’t wanted me and he did want her, and she was just a child.’

  ‘Was that why you shot him?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never known, quite.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Describe the evening, if you can remember it.’

  ‘If I can remember!’

  Silence. Come on, come on, I urged. The recorder was still running. I wanted a confession. A confession, on tape. I still couldn’t quite believe my luck. There had to be money in this. ‘Stephanie said Lord Sherwin was annoyed with his wife, that evening?’

  That topic was safe enough: she plunged in. ‘He was. I overheard them quarrelling in her bedroom. She was refusing to attend the ball. He insisted that she get dressed. He repeated his demand for a divorce. He said that if she refused to dress, he’d carry her downstairs as she was.’ Miss Potter’s cheeks glowed at the memory: she evidently found his machismo appealing.

  ‘And so she did dress?’

  ‘Naturally. In less than twenty minutes she was downstairs, playing hostess, being charming to the Master and his wife. If anything, her performance was overdone.’

  Silence.

  ‘The little girls?’ I prompted, to ease her back in.

  ‘Penelope was very excited. All the children were excited and happy, getting dressed. They had new dresses. Charlotte was teasing Penelope: she threw her new white socks on top of the cupboard. Candida, the youngest, couldn’t manage the buttons on her new black patent leather shoes. Penelope fetched a button hook, to help her.’

  ‘And then at the ball itself,’ I nudged.

  ‘Penelope danced with Candida, before the guests arrived. Charlotte approached Rollo, I imagine to ask him to dance with her, but he avoided her and came towards me. Charlotte was his least favourite child. I ignored him. I was helping the barmen to wipe and set out the champagne glasses. I was wearing my dark blue taffeta, and white gloves. I had freed my fingers from the gloves, and folded them back at the wrist.’

  There was, for the first time, a glibness in Miss P.’s voice. She was hiding something. But I couldn’t afford to stop her, and I hoped it was something unimportant. Perhaps she’d agreed to dance with Rollo after all, incestuous villain though he was, and left the barmen to it.

  She went on. ‘Rosalind was looking very beautiful: she was wearing her mother’s pearls, and the sight of her, coming down the stairs, made Colonel Farrell cry. Then they danced together, and the other guests began to arrive. The ball appeared to go well. I received two invitations to dance: under normal circumstances, I would have accepted, but I was too – preoccupied with what I believed to be the relationship between Lord Sherwin and Rosalind. They danced together, several times. Looking back, I can see she was relieved to escape from Patrick Revill, who monopolized her. At the time, I could not understand what he was doing there at all. Colonel Farrell hovered while Rosalind danced with the actor. He was sensitive, in some ways. I suppose he was trying to pluck up the courage to cut in, but of course Lord Sherwin, once he saw Rosalind’s plight, acted decisively and effectively. When Lord Sherwin and Rosalind danced, she was happy.’

  And you watched, spitting nails, I thought, jealous of them both, excluded by them both, angry beyond words at Rosalind’s
behaviour.

  Nothing would stop Miss Potter now. ‘As the evening wore on I had to force myself to carry out my duties, to supervise the children and see them to bed after supper Charlotte didn’t want to leave the ball; I saw her, an hour or so later, in her night-things, watching through the banisters from the first floor landing. I dealt with her summarily and dragged her back to bed. I nearly dislocated her arm. She had the sense to say nothing. When I returned to the party. Lord Sherwin was nowhere to be seen. Rosalind was dancing with a young man I didn’t know. She was flirting. I could not believe that, bearing such a burden of guilt, she could be so indifferent. Had I taught her nothing, in all those years?’

  ‘Where was Rollo?’

  ‘I went to look for him. I am not sure why. He wasn’t on the dance floor, or on the terrace with the small group watching a foolish, drunken guest shooting rabbits, nor in the dining-room amid the remains of supper. He was not in his study. I went into his study for a moment, and remembered the last occasion I had been there.’

  ‘When he kissed your fingers and sent you to bed?’

  ‘Exactly. The band was playing a gallop. I could hear the music, and the guests’ barbaric whoops and shrieks. I was bitterly angry. I despised them, Alex. I thought, they are nothing. Why have I served them for so long? Then I heard raised voices from the gun-room, next door. One of them was Rollo’s.’

  Miss Potter stopped talking, suddenly, as if she was choking on the words. It was the first time I had ever heard her call him Rollo. Intimacy was allowable between murderess and soon-to-be victim, perhaps. ‘What did you hear?’ I said. ‘Who was in there?’

  ‘The gun-room door was shut. I listened to them quarrelling. Rollo and Laura. She sounded – vicious. “Don’t think you’ll get away with this and live happy ever after with your latest floosie,” she said. “I’ll take you for every penny, see if I don’t, and your precious house.” ’

  ‘Are you sure that’s what she said?’

  ‘I have an excellent memory. It was a significant occasion, for me. I am nearly sure.’

  ‘What did he say?’