Nine Lives to Murder

by Marian Babson

  Yes! Yes! The cat rubbed his head eagerly against Tottie’s chin. There was nothing he wanted more than to go back to St Monica’s and check The Instrument’s progress.

  21

  ‘There are morons—’ They could hear Dame Theodora proclaiming as they stepped out of the lift and walked down the corridor.

  ‘And there are damned morons! And then there is Oliver Crump!’

  ‘Now, now, Auntie Thea …’ they heard Crump bleat.

  ‘I don’t know how he puts up with it,’ Davy muttered. ‘I’d strangle the old bat if she talked to me like that.’

  ‘He’s undoubtedly very fond of her,’ Tottie said primly. ‘And vice-versa.’

  ‘Fond of her money,’ Davy said. ‘Listen to him grovel. Serve him right if she left it all to an Old Cats’ Home.’

  ‘Monty would approve of that, wouldn’t you, Monty?’

  ‘Play his cards right and perhaps he could get to be sole heir. She likes him better than Oliver.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Tottie peered in at one of the open doors. ‘Here’s Win! Sitting up, too. Win, darling—’ She swooped across the room to aim a kiss at his cheek; he hardly dodged at all. ‘You’re looking a lot better. You have to be feeling better!’

  ‘She’s right, Win,’ Davy said. ‘You’re looking about a million times better than you did when I last saw you.’ They both stood and regarded him hopefully, waiting for some sign that the old Win was there.

  The figure in the chair stared back at them gravely.

  ‘Win … ?’ Tottie’s smile wavered. ‘Win, you know us, don’t you? it’s Tottie … and Davy … and Monty.’

  He hadn’t noticed the cat before. It had been half-hidden by Tottie’s arms. Now his face changed; the eyes lit up, the lips curved in a smile. He lurched forward eagerly, arms flailing towards Monty.

  The cat shrunk back against Tottie. He’d be happier about getting closer to The Instrument if he had confidence that it knew its own strength. A too-exuberant hug could squash a cat—or at least do some serious damage.

  ‘Yes, Monty’s come to visit you.’ Tottie appeared to have her own doubts on the subject. She did not offer Monty to the outstretched hands; instead, she let him drop to the floor where he could choose for himself whether to advance or retreat.

  For the moment, he sat, curling his tail tightly around his body, and observed The Instrument. It appeared to be in good condition. Of course, the hospital would see to that, in physical terms.

  ‘Win, aren’t you going to say hello?’ Tottie lowered her voice and turned to Davy. ‘Oh Gawd, it was easier to talk to him when his eyes were closed. Then you didn’t know whether he was hearing you or not. This way, you don’t know whether he’s understanding you.’

  ‘I think he is. It’s just taking a bit longer to get through to him. He got pretty concussed. Just let him take his time—’

  ‘Oh, it’s you!’ Dame Theodora spoke from the doorway. ‘I heard voices and didn’t know who’d come in. Hello, Tottie. Hello, Davy. You might as well come down and visit me. Win isn’t in any shape to be his usual scintillating company tonight.’

  ‘Thea, dear.’ Tottie went through the motions of a stage kiss again, while Davy just waved a hand in greeting. ‘How are you doing, dear?’

  ‘Doing nothing,’ Thea said. ‘Flat, stale and unprofitable, that’s life around here. I’m bored, thirsty, unamused and—just to rub salt in my wounds—they keep allowing my nephew to come in and annoy me.’

  ‘It’s too bad, dear,’ Tottie sympathized absently. ‘Still, it will all be worth while, won’t it, when the filming starts and you’re looking all rested and glamorous for your role?’

  ‘Oh, there you are, Auntie Thea.’ Oliver Crump joined them. ‘I wondered where you’d got to. I just turned my back for a moment …’ he complained to the others.

  ‘You see? I can’t have a moment’s peace!’ Thea stormed. ‘Get out! Get out and leave me with my friends!’

  ‘Now, Auntie Thea, they’re my friends, too.’ Oliver stretched a point. ‘Hello, Tottie, Davy.’

  It was just as well that all attention was centred on Dame Theodora and her nephew. No one saw the cat spit quietly at Oliver. Nor did they notice that the man in the chair was stirring into action.

  Having gone back to staring at his hands occasionally wriggling his thumbs experimentally, he now abandoned this occupation. He lifted his head to study Monty with a perplexed expression. He was obviously trying to work through a problem, a series of problems.

  The cat leaped to the arm of his chair, feeling that is was safe to do so now that The Instrument was calmer. They regarded each other quietly while the argument raged in the background.

  The man seemed to shrug, then lifted one hand to his mouth. He licked the fingers meticulously, then dabbed at his face.

  Don’t do that! The cat’s paw shot out, cuffing his ear. Then they both stared around guiltily.

  It was all right, they had not been observed.

  ‘And you didn’t answer your telephone this afternoon.’ Oliver continued with his list of charges. ‘I was worried about you. I knew it wasn’t your nap time.’

  ‘I was otherwise engaged,’ Dame Theodora said loftily. ‘As a matter of fact, I was being interviewed. So I just let it ring. You didn’t hang on for very long, anyway.’

  ‘Interviewed?’ Oliver was instantly alert. ‘What paper? How did they get in here? What did you tell them?’

  ‘It was a magazine,’ she corrected. ‘American Theatre Today is doing an International Review feature. She said.’ Dame Theodora’s lip curled with disbelief.

  ‘What she? You’re suggesting she was an impostor?’

  ‘Oh, I knew who she was, all right. She might have put on a blonde wig and that phoney American accent, but I recognized her. It was that newspaper doxy of Win’s, sneaking in and using me to get at him.’ Dame Theodora grinned mirthlessly. ‘Much good it did her.’

  They all turned to look at Winstanley Fortescue. He looked back at them imperturbably, inscrutably. Monty sat on the arm of his chair and also regarded them gravely; the tip of his tail twitched.

  No, it wouldn’t do anyone much good to try to talk to Winstanley Fortescue right now. As well try to get a conversation out of old Monty.

  ‘He’s better now,’ Dame Theodora said critically. ‘Not so restless. Mind you, that silly bitch would unnerve anyone.’

  ‘You let her come in here?’ Tottie was furious.

  ‘What did you expect me to do, block her path? She’s bigger, younger and healthier than I am. Also more ruthless. I must say, Win used to have better taste.’

  The cat’s tail twitched more violently and began to lash. He gave Dame Thea a baleful look and his whiskers twitched as well.

  Catching the change in the atmosphere, the man stirred restlessly and looked around. He did not seem to like anything he saw until his gaze fell on Monty, then he relaxed again. His hand stretched out to touch the cat gently.

  ‘It’s wonderful the effect Monty has on him,’ Tottie said. ‘They get along like a dream. I guess the Chesterton had better start auditioning for a new cat, Monty won’t be living in the theatre much longer.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Davy said. ‘It looks as though Monty is turning into a one-man cat.’

  Hearing the familiar name so often, the man grew restless again. The cat chirruped soothingly at him, wishing everyone would change the subject. Although the subject was one that would eventually become pertinent. After all they had been through together, could he and Monty really go their separate ways when this came to an end? If it came to an end? If they weren’t trapped for the rest of their lifetimes in each other’s bodies.

  The man shook his head, as though to clear it of some unwelcome thought. He looked at the table beside his chair and very slowly, very carefully, reached out towards a small jug of orange juice.

  Something wrong! The cat sensed danger and moved into a crouching position, ready to run … or fight. What wa
s wrong?

  It took several tries before the man’s hand closed on the jug’s handle with conviction. When he lifted the jug, it shook unsteadily and struck against the glass with a loud clink, nearly knocking it over.

  ‘I’ll do that, Win.’ Tottie rushed forward. ‘Your coordination isn’t too good right now. It will get better,’ she assured him, pouring the juice. ‘And your voice will come back, too. You just need patience—’

  Something very wrong! That terrible smell! Couldn’t Tottie smell it? It made his eyes smart and his tongue curl back to protect his throat.

  ‘No, no.’ She evaded the waving hands. ‘I’ll hold it for you. Don’t you worry about anything. Just sip it.’ She raised the glass to Winstanley Fortescue’s lips.

  The cat sprang. He hit the glass, knocking it out of Tottie’s hand and sending it flying. The orange juice flew out in a wide arc and landed on the carpet with the glass.

  ‘Monty! Naughty!’ Tottie scolded. ‘What’s got into you lately? You’ve never done anything like that before! Are you jealous because I’m paying too much attention to Win?’ The cat crouched in a corner, staring at the widening pool of orange juice and hissing fiercely.

  ‘Look!’ Dame Theodora’s stage whisper was more arresting than a shout. They followed her pointing finger.

  The orange juice smoked and bubbled, eating its way through the carpet to the floor. The edges of the puddle widened as the acid ate into the surrounding fibres.

  ‘If Win had drunk that—!’ Dame Theodora shuddered and closed her eyes briefly.

  ‘Hell’s teeth!’ Oliver Crump gasped. ‘Jilly was right. Someone is trying to murder Winstanley Fortescue!’

  22

  ‘You print one word—’ Davy spun round and grabbed Oliver Crump by the lapels, pulling him forward. ‘You dare even to hint at it—and I’ll beat you to a pulp!’

  ‘And I—’ Dame Theodora voiced the greater threat—‘will disinherit you!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Oliver Crump fought back. ‘Everyone is going to know when the police arrive.’

  ‘Police?’ Tottie swooped on the still-hissing cat and gathered him into her arms. ‘What police? We’re not going to call the police, are we?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Dame Theodora said. ‘That would lead to questions. Questions about all of us and our reasons for being here. That is not the sort of publicity any of us require.’

  ‘But—but—’ her nephew bleated. ‘This is a murder—attempted murder. And not the first attempt at that. You can’t stand by and let Winstanley Fortescue be killed just because you’re afraid of bad publicity.’

  ‘Watch your tongue!’ Dame Theodora’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed her nephew. ‘And don’t judge others by the way you conduct yourself! No one has any intention of just standing by.’

  ‘I should say not!’ Tottie moved forward, still cradling Monty. ‘Win is leaving here just as soon as I can get Miranda to come round in a taxi and sign him out. He’s going home where we can take care of him properly. I don’t know what’s going on in St Monica’s, but it’s not the place it used to be at all.’

  That’s right. A person could get killed around here. The cat rubbed its head against her urgently. Take me home. Take me home. Take us both home.

  ‘Good old Monty.’ Tottie scratched his ears. ‘You saved Win’s life, do you know that? You saved Win’s life.’

  He did! He did! More than Tottie knew. It was Monty’s sharp sense of smell, Monty’s muscles and reflexes that had saved the day. Saved himself; saved both of them. If that noxious corrosive liquid had got into The Instrument, burned its way down through tender throat tissue, as it had burned through the carpet, Winstanley Fortescue would have gone to his death. A horrible, agonizing death. Who could hate him that much?

  The cat and man stared at the hole in the carpet, then met each other’s eyes. Monty-inside-Win knew what had happened and reached out a hand to the cat. How much of Win was still inside Win?

  ‘That’s right, Win.’ Tottie put the cat in his arms. ‘You hold Monty while I ring Miranda. And then we’ll get Matron up here and let her know that she can explain to Doctor—yes, and Sir Reginald, too—just why you’ve done a moonlight flit.’

  ‘You know, Auntie Thea—’ Oliver looked at his aunt thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think you ought to stay on here, either. It isn’t safe.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Dame Theodora said. ‘No one is trying to do away with me.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Oliver said. ‘But if Win isn’t around, perhaps they’ll turn their attention to one of the other patients.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘You never can tell.’ Oliver looked over his shoulder at the doorway. ‘There have been several cases over the past years of nursing staff who’ve killed off patients. Sometimes just because they were annoyed with them.’

  Could Crump have come up with the solution? But no, that wouldn’t explain the initial accident—murder attempt—that had put him in St Monica’s in the first place. Once here, The Instrument had simply lain quietly and unconscious for most of the time. He could have done nothing to disturb the nursing staff.

  If anyone were to drive Matron to madness or enrage the nurses beyond endurance, then Dame Theodora was the prime candidate.

  ‘You liked that nice nursing home in Bournemouth, didn’t you?’ Oliver coaxed. ‘You could pack your things and I could drive you down there now. It won’t matter what time we arrive.’

  ‘Why don’t I just go back to my flat?’ Dame Theodora asked craftily. ‘I’m almost through with the treatment—such as it is—here, anyway. I can just keep on with it at home. I’d be more comfortable—and you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone murdering me.’

  ‘Mmmm, yes,’ Oliver said. That wasn’t what he was worried about, and she knew it.

  ‘Or perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I got murdered,’ Dame Theodora’s voice dropped to a low insinuation. ‘Life would be a lot easier with all that money, wouldn’t it, Oliver? And without having to dance attendance on an irascible old lady?’

  ‘Auntie Thea,’ he moaned. ‘Don’t say such things. I’d be lost without you.’

  ‘You would, Oliver, you would, indeed. Just see that you remember that.’

  Interesting … very interesting. He watched as Oliver Crump folded up completely.

  ‘Well, perhaps you would be better off at home, Auntie Thea. I must say St Monica’s doesn’t seem a particularly healthy place to be at the moment—and Bournemouth is an inconvenient distance away. If you’re at home, I can drop in on you frequently …’

  ‘You always do, Oliver,’ Dame Theodora sighed. ‘You always do.’

  ‘There now.’ Tottie replaced the telephone and turned back to the others. ‘That’s settled. Miranda’s on her way. Don’t you worry.’ She patted Win on the shoulder and chucked Monty under the chin—they both responded with the same slightly irritated affection.

  ‘We’ll have you out of here in no time.’

  23

  For the rest of the week, Winstanley Fortescue prospered. In his own home, the dormant instincts responded to the familiar surroundings. He gravitated immediately to his favourite chair and knew the way to every room in the house. He even remembered about the defective catch on the French windows into the garden and his smile appeared tentatively for the first time.

  Now that he was relaxing, his mobile features began to regain their mobility. He was still reluctant to talk, only rarely trying a simple word or two. He seemed more comfortable with vowels than with consonants.

  The cat watched anxiously, never far from his side.

  ‘The rapport between those two is marvellous.’ Miranda agreed with Tottie’s earlier observation. ‘There are moments when they almost seem to be part of each other.’

  ‘Most cats have a streak of the psychic—and Monty’s smarter than most, I’d say.’ Geoffrey stroked the cat lying across his lap. ‘He knows Dad needs soothing companionship and he’s doing his bit. He’s a very calmin
g influence. In fact, he’s so calming, I’m in danger of falling asleep if I sit here stroking him much longer.’

  ‘It wouldn’t do you any harm, dear,’ Tottie said. ‘You haven’t had much sleep lately with all this uproar. It’s been one crisis after another ever since Win … fell.’

  ‘Do you think that was an accident?’ Geoffrey picked her up on it immediately, but the question was directed to Miranda.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Miranda said slowly. ‘I think I was willing to believe it … until those other incidents began happening.’

  ‘You still don’t want the police called in?’

  ‘Oh no—that wouldn’t be a good idea at all,’ Tottie said quickly.

  ‘No!’ Miranda shook her head.

  Damn right! The cat regarded them approvingly. No police, no publicity. Geoffrey meant well, but if the media were to find out what had happened between the man and the cat …

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t agree to hiring a private investigator, either?’

  Miranda shook her head again, more vehemently this time. Geoffrey didn’t know what he was asking—and she couldn’t tell him. How could you put it delicately to your stepson that his own mother was the most likely culprit? Only Antoinette possessed the necessary spite—and had held a grudge against Win ever since the divorce. There was also the fact that Antoinette was so … delicately balanced. The increasingly erratic streak in her that had passed for high spirits in her youth was now being referred to as eccentricity in her middle years. As the years rolled on, was she slipping over the line into madness?

  Miranda met Tottie’s eyes and they exchanged a rueful shrug. Tottie knew.

  ‘No,’ Miranda said, as Geoffrey seemed about to protest. ‘No private investigator. Now that Win is safely back home, I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble. We’ll still keep our eyes open, but I think the worst may be over.’ Now that I can make sure that Antoinette never comes near him again.

  ‘Prrrr …’ The cat gave a loud throb of agreement.

  ‘Uuurrr …’ Winstanley Fortescue echoed it.