Authors: Suzette A. Hill
Two days later she found herself once more at the Fawcett ménage, Lady Fawcett having telephoned to express gratitude for her daughter’s gift of the mink coat and to ask if its donor would care to come for a light lunch unencumbered by ‘you know
who
’. By which Rosy assumed she had meant the Gills.
‘Auntie wants a facelift,’ announced Amy in the course of the preliminary sherries.
‘Well, Auntie can go whistle,’ snapped Lady Fawcett. ‘The experience would be excruciating.’
‘For Auntie?’
‘For us. Just imagine the drama of the eyepatches and the incessant demands for looking glasses. One would be worn out!’
‘She is very determined.’
‘I should be surprised if she weren’t,’ her mother replied grimly.
‘But at ninety-two I should think it’s a bit late for the old bird, isn’t it? I mean horse has bolted and all that sort of thing,’ observed Edward.
‘It ill behoves you, Edward, to refer to your great-aunt as “old bird”,’ replied his own aunt. ‘And in any case it is never too late for a woman to make the best of herself. It just happens that Auntie has been making more than the best of herself for far too long. It cannot go on!’
‘Want a bet?’ said Amy.
‘What I
need
is rest and liquid sustenance. I’ve just had Harold Gill on the telephone trying to wheedle another cheque for his wretched Pygmy Fund.’
‘Did you stand firm?’ Edward asked.
‘As a matter of fact I didn’t have to because when I asked if the cheque would help supply some stilts he went rather peculiar and rang off …’
Amy’s laugh ricocheted around the room. ‘Narrow escape!’
Her mother looked puzzled. ‘Can’t think why you laugh. I should have thought stilts might be rather useful. I mean with all that jungle or whatever it is they walk about in, probably strengthen their position.’
‘What position?’
‘
I
don’t know! But it can’t be very high. Now do stop pestering me and bring another glass of sherry. And you can get Rosy one too. She looks parched.’
As it happened the required sherry was never delivered, for at that moment there was the clanging of the doorbell. ‘Now who can that be?’ Lady Fawcett exclaimed. ‘Nobody calls on a Saturday, everyone’s down in the country.’
‘Probably a Jehovah’s Witness,’ said Amy. ‘Edward, go and tell them we are the Pope’s first cousins. It generally does the trick.’
He got up and meandered into the hall.
They heard the sound of the front door being opened and
then Edward’s voice calling them. ‘I say,’ he boomed, ‘there’s a policeman here. You’ll never guess what’s happened: it’s Auntie, she’s fallen down the area steps!’
Lady Fawcett closed her eyes. ‘You don’t think he is making it up, do you?’ she asked hopefully.
Her nephew appeared in the doorway, his alarmed face dispelling such hopes. ‘Found at the bottom in a heap. Ankle broken and fuming.’
‘Goodness, at least she is conscious!’ Rosy exclaimed.
‘Oh Lord, yes. In the London Clinic apparently and giving them merry hell. Claims she was pushed.’
‘
Pushed?
’ Rosy cried.
‘Extremely likely,’ murmured Lady Fawcett. She turned to Amy. ‘You had better get on to Moses Stevens. Tell them to send two dozen lilies.’
‘They won’t be there on a Saturday, it’s the Sabbath. Besides, wouldn’t it be better to try Felix Smythe and Bountiful Blooms? He might sulk if he’s not asked, and he is bound to find out.’
Her mother closed her eyes again. ‘Whatever you think best, but be quick about it. At all costs Auntie must be
quelled
!’ She turned to Rosy. ‘My dear, do you think you could possibly summon a taxi? We shall have to go and …’
Having done as she was bid Rosy found herself somehow caught up in Auntie’s visiting party; and rather diffidently she accompanied the family as they trooped up the hospital stairs to one of the large private suites. Ushered by the nurse they entered hesitantly and stared solemnly down at their relation.
The old lady lay propped on pillows, face pinched but eyes sharp. ‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ she greeted them. ‘I might have been dead by now.’
‘We came as soon as we heard, Auntie. Taxis are difficult on a Saturday,’ protested Lady Fawcett. ‘Anyway, how are you?’
‘How would you be if you had been pushed down a flight of steps? I am shattered from head to toe.’ And then addressing Edward, she said graciously, ‘You can put the grapes on that table for the time being, I shan’t want any just yet.’
‘Er … well I
would
, only we haven’t actually—’ began Edward.
‘Auntie, I’m sure you can’t have been pushed!’ broke in Lady Fawcett hastily. ‘Who on earth would have done such a thing? I expect you slipped – the pavements are so treacherous after rain and it’s really quite misty.’
The patient narrowed her eyes and said frostily, ‘I did not slip, I was pushed. And as to who did it, I name no names.’ She placed a scrawny finger against the side of her nose and closed one eye.
‘Well, at least that’s something,’ muttered Edward to Rosy. ‘No libel damages.’
‘I say,’ Amy exclaimed, ‘how awfully thrilling! Were you being followed?’
The old lady seemed to ruminate. ‘Unlikely. I had just left the house to post a letter in the box ten yards away. (One
can
still manage that you know!) So I don’t think the question of following arises. I should have thought “being watched” is the better description. Yes,
watched and set upon
.’ She articulated the phrase with throaty relish.
There was a silence. And then Lady Fawcett coughed and murmured something about a nice pot of tea. ‘I am sure the nurse can bring one – there’s bound to be a bell somewhere …’ She stood up and looked about with an air of mild desperation.
Auntie waved a dismissive hand. ‘Can’t abide tea. But a cocktail would be acceptable, though doubtless I shall be told it is too early.’ She contrived to look both hopeful and martyred.
‘Well, it is rather,’ her niece answered doubtfully. ‘Besides, they probably won’t allow it on account of the pills they’ve given you. Nurses tend to be stuffy about that kind of thing and—’
‘Anyone having suffered the sort of ordeal I have been through deserves indulgence; my shins are black and blue! Do you want to see them?’
‘Not really.’
The patient turned to Edward. ‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to give your poor suffering great-aunt a nip from your hip flask.’ She flashed him what once upon a time might have been a dazzling smile.
The recipient looked nonplussed, while Amy giggled and answered for him: ‘But Auntie, Edward doesn’t have a hip flask.’
‘How disappointing. In my day all bright young men carried hip flasks.’
Amy giggled again. ‘But you see Edward isn’t terribly—’
‘Yes, yes I know,’ was the weary reply. ‘Never mind, I shall just have to await the flowers of sympathy you will all be sending me. Doubtless they will be exquisite.’
‘Oh they will!’ Lady Fawcett exclaimed eagerly. ‘They are being specially ordered from Felix Smythe.’
‘Ye gods,’ croaked her aunt, ‘bound to be a queer bunch!’
As they prepared to leave with promises to return on the Monday, the patient wafted an imperious hand in the direction of Rosy. ‘I appreciate your silence, Miss Gilchrist,
far too much noise from my own family. Good of you to visit a helpless old lady, especially in view of your own troubles.’
Rosy smiled awkwardly and made the appropriate responses. And then, just as they were trooping to the door, the helpless one said, ‘Oh, and by the way, if anyone is
really
interested – he had a wooden leg.’
‘Who did?’ Edward asked.
‘My attacker, of course.’
Lady Fawcett raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘What is she talking about? It must be the pills, they’ve obviously given her too many.’ With a sigh she turned into the corridor followed by Rosy suddenly numbed to the bone.
‘Had a
wooden
bloody
leg
?’ she had asked herself incredulously as she followed the Fawcetts to the hospital exit. ‘Surely not!’ A coincidence? A figment? An awful truth? Whatever the answer, rather as Lady Fawcett earlier, Rosy needed rest and a stiff drink.
With that in mind she had been about to detach herself from her companions and make off swiftly back to Baker Street, when Amy cried, ‘Oh gosh, Mummy, you can’t visit on Monday. Don’t you remember? You’ve got to go and open the Gills’ bric-a-brac bazaar. You promised you would and they’ll be awfully miffed if you don’t turn up.’
‘So will the Pygmies,’ sniggered Edward. ‘All proceeds go to the Fund.’
Lady Fawcett regarded them helplessly, evidently weighing up the lesser of two evils and coming to no firm conclusion.
‘And what’s more,’ continued Amy, ‘I am afraid Edward and I can’t possibly visit as we’ve
got
to get to Newbury. Big Bertha is running and—’
‘Newbury races are on a Saturday,’ her mother said firmly.
‘But not this year. They’ve had to change the schedule to fit in with the Queen’s …’ Her voice trailed off as all three turned to look at Rosy.
‘My dear,’ murmured Lady Fawcett sweetly, ‘I don’t suppose by
any
chance you would be free to visit Auntie on our behalf? I mean, I know you are working and all that sort of thing, but perhaps in the afternoon you could just manage to slip in? It would be so helpful, you’ve no idea!’
Rosy had every idea and normally she would have invented an instant excuse. But prompted by some visceral urge to learn more of Auntie’s revelation re the leg, she heard herself saying, ‘Yes, of course, no difficulty at all.’
They were visibly relieved. And with that settled Rosy took herself off to the calm of her flat. Here she poured the needed drink but also went to her desk to find the Paris telephone number Whittington had given her. She stared down at it, wondering.
Should she really try to make contact? But if so to what end? To report that she had some news of the document he had been seeking – to confirm that it was still in England and possibly at the St John’s Wood house? … Or to check that he was in France and not currently in London pushing old ladies down steps?’
In the event, mellowed by the whisky and feeling hungry, she decided against such action. So much pleasanter to just kick off her shoes, fill her glass and contemplate supper. She lit a cigarette and turned on the radio for the six o’clock news; and thus comfortably cocooned decided to shelve such troubling matters till the morning. Or the one after.
‘Well of course I had to tell her!’ protested Felix to Cedric when the latter returned from his annual Cambridge visit. ‘In the circumstances there wasn’t much choice. Vera was banging on in her usual way and the girl heard everything. How was I to know she would be there lurking in the shop? Vera took off smartish and I was left to field the questions. At first I tried to skirt round the matter but when I realised she wasn’t going to be fobbed off, I thought: “Oh well, what the hell, why shouldn’t Rosy Gilchrist hear the full story? After all, it was her aunt who was the traitor, so see what she makes of this, then!”’ He broke off to run his fingers through his hair and scowl at the cat. ‘She is hardly likely to go to the police.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Cedric asked. ‘I can’t help thinking you may have placed us in a highly precarious position. We have no guarantee of her silence … in fact, I really feel quite uneasy.’ He shot a suspicious glance around the sitting room as if half expecting to see size twelve boots protruding from
beneath the curtains or the gleam of handcuffs caught in a shaft of lamplight.
‘No,’ replied Felix, ‘I am not sure, but I would bet ten to one that she won’t. Rosy Gilchrist may be strait-laced and not overendowed with high spirits but it is precisely that upright sobriety that will keep the lady quiet.’
‘Really? What do you mean?’ Cedric cast a speculative eye over the chocolate truffles at his elbow, selected one and as an afterthought slid the box in Felix’s direction.
The latter gave it a cursory appraisal but postponed the pleasure. ‘Look at it from her point of view,’ he continued. ‘Highly respected parents admired for their sterling war work and bastion of all that is fine and British, tragically blown to pieces in the Blitz; herself at twenty helping the boys down in Dover to keep the Hun at bay; RAF beau with medals to his name shot down just before Dresden … And now, in these quieter days, here she is leading an unimpeachable life being worthy in the British Museum. Do you imagine for one moment she would want the world to know about the crazy aunt ditching her wartime colleagues and then latterly resorting to a brisk bit of blackmail? No fear! Frankly, if I were Rosy Gilchrist I would keep very quiet indeed.
Very
quiet.’ He selected two of the proffered chocolates, put one aside and popped the other into his mouth.
Cedric smiled. ‘What empathy you have, my dear Felix – must come from all that aesthetic sensitivity Her Majesty so admires.’ He smiled again and then added softly, ‘But life teaches one that people do not always run true to type, that sometimes the most predictable patterns of behaviour suddenly abort or become twisted. I learnt that a long time ago in the war. It doesn’t do to assume too much. After your somewhat rash revelations to the
Gilchrist girl I think it might be politic to invite her here for a friendly drink – get the lie of the land as it were, i.e. assess her discretion and if necessary gently remind her of the discomfort of her
own
position should anything get out about Marcia and “old times”. Yes, I think we need a word with the lady. The last thing we want is for her to go marching off to the police in the grip of moral dudgeon and civic duty. Wouldn’t do at all.’
Felix heaved a sigh and nodded. ‘Perhaps, perhaps; it seems unlikely, but you could be right …’ He stared morosely at Cedric’s smart new coal scuttle in the grate. ‘What on earth possessed us to do it? If only one had realised …’
‘More to the point, what possessed her murderer? Had it been Thistlehyde the answer would be obvious: pique and petulance. He never forgave her for being scathing about him in the
Tatler
.’
‘Really? When was that? … Oh, of course – yes, I remember. You mean when she said that for one who had learnt to paint by numbers he had a moderately promising future.’ Felix tittered. ‘That went deep all right, cut him to the quick. Goodness, what was it about Marcia? She had such a knack for riling people!’
‘A temptation few of us can resist,’ murmured Cedric, ‘but it did for her in the end. Vera’s right: she went too far, overplayed her hand as usual. Yes, the more I think about it the more I’m certain our original assumption was correct: the murderer was one of her blackmail victims peeved by her importunate demands.’
‘Yes but
who
? And in any case, why should he choose to use my coal scuttle to crown his handiwork? Mere chance I had happened to dump the thing in the hall. I mean, if his mission had been to silence the lady and get her off his back
I cannot imagine why he would want to footle around with artistic embellishments.’
‘Perhaps he was early for a subsequent engagement and was looking for something to fill the time. You know how it is.’ Cedric stretched an arm to retrieve the truffles and examined them thoughtfully. ‘But as to identity, I take it that is precisely what the police are pondering at this very minute – assuming that they even
know
about the blackmail business; we may be in advance of them there – I am not convinced of that inspector’s acumen. But it is certainly what Vera is pondering. She’s hunting that confounded paper of Marcia’s like a slavering bloodhound. Keeps muttering about the “bastard bombers” and that she’ll root them out if it kills her.’
‘Hmm. Rather a rash statement in the current climate, I should think! Besides, they didn’t actually
do
any bombing. Mercifully the whole plot collapsed.’
‘Ah, but it’s the thought that counts; and if the authorities ever do get wind of what they were up to they’ll probably swing, or at very best be banged up in Pentonville for the rest of their days. Hence dear Marcia’s disposal.’
‘Vera’s a fool,’ said Felix. ‘Given the situation, playing detective is the last thing she should be doing; courting trouble. It’s dangerous enough with the police – if they learn that her brother was a casualty of Marcia’s wartime outrage they’ll be on to her like a ferret with a rabbit. Unlike us she may not have played silly beggars with a coal bucket, but in their eyes she would still have a strong motive. Speaking as one similarly placed, I should think she has quite enough to worry about without gratuitously inviting the same fate as Marcia!’
‘Ah, but then I suspect she is being egged on by Sabatier.’
‘
Who?
’
‘Sabatier, her wartime boss. The only man she ever really respected. It was quite a pash one gathers, though I can’t think why.’ Cedric sniffed dismissively. ‘From what I remember he looks like a taller version of Goebbels and with the same limp. Not one’s type at all! But it’s not the physique so much as the mentality. In those days he had the reputation as a brilliant operator, but it’s a brilliance that has lost its sparkle and been replaced by obsession. There are certain people who can never get the war out of their system and he is one such. Rumour has it there is some family grudge he’s engrossed with, though I don’t know what – something to do with the names on this document presumably. Vera would know I suppose …’
‘So you think it was from him that she heard this tale of the plot and Marcia’s blackmailing?’
‘More than likely. According to the grapevine he lives in France these days but periodically comes over here on business, i.e. to trail his enemies, and then slips back to France again. Very discreet, very elusive – a bit like a shuffling Scarlet Pimpernel, you might say.’
‘Well, just as long as he doesn’t shuffle in our direction I don’t care,’ Felix said sharply. ‘Personally I am finding this whole business more than vexing. If wretched Marcia had behaved herself in the war none of this would have happened and our lives could be cool and unencumbered just as they used to be. As it is, I have a heart attack every time I see a policeman; and now that the press has sniffed out the “mysterious” lump of coal found in the victim’s wardrobe with its “tantalising” message I can’t even read a newspaper without feeling sick.’ He picked up a truffle and discarded it
impatiently. ‘You might have bought a mixed selection; you know I prefer the white chocolate!’
‘I
think
,’ said Cedric soothingly, ‘it is time for a couple of very dry Martinis. What shall it be – a Gibson or the usual?’
Felix considered and opted for the usual.
‘Excellent. And then you can tell me all about your having to deliver flowers to Adelaide Fawcett in the London Clinic.’
Felix brightened. ‘Indeed I will. She fell down her steps, you know. So careless. Claims she was pushed.’
Cedric gave a deft swirl of the cocktail wand. ‘Hmm. Nice to think so …’ He beamed. ‘Now, try that for size!’