Nothing Like Blood (16 page)

“Not necessarily, I think. He could afford to retire?”

“Oh yes. Private money. Quite well off, I believe. Wish I were. You'll give him my salaams, won't you? Say old Crackers wants to be remembered to him.”

“I don't think I shall mention that I've met you,” said Carolus.

“Best not, perhaps. I shouldn't want him to think I'd been taking his name in vain. Or his sister's. Phiz is a bit of a terror, isn't she?”

“She's certainly very blunt. When did you see the Grissells last?”

“When they first came home. They popped down here for a week-end. I got him to preach at St Aug's. Rather hair-raising, really. He seemed to take my parishioners for the heathen. Hell-fire, you know, and retribution. One old lady fainted. The choir thought it no end of a lark, but I expect they think the same of me.”

When Carolus left Mr Cracknell it was past five o'clock, but he decided to try to finish his roster in order to reach Cat's Cradle at lunchtime on the following day.

He had only one more call—Conway Towers Preparatory School, at which the Jerrisons had been employed.
This was at Orbiton, a reputedly healthy suburb on the hills, not more than twenty miles away but by a different route crossing the main roads into London. He decided not to phone the school before going there, though he realized that during the summer holidays it might be deserted, even by the proprietor, Mr Colin Topham.

He found it to be one of those large Victorian mansions built for rich city men in the sixties and seventies of the last century. He asked for the headmaster and was shown into a room which, from his own days as a small boy at a preparatory school, he recognized as ‘the study'. He had not long to look about him, however, for a small man in white flannels and a blazer burst into the room and addressed him irritably.

“I'm not seeing applicants until tomorrow,” he said. “The agents should have told you that. Have you got a degree?”

“Yes,” said Carolus mildly.

“What is it?”

“Honours History.”

“University?”

“Oxford.”

“College?”

“Christ Church.”

“School?”

“Beaumont.”

Mr Topham looked aggrieved.

“I was playing tennis,” he said. “I told the agents not to send anyone before tomorrow.” He strolled to the window. “Is that your car out there?”

“Yes.”

“Teach for a hobby, do you?”

“Yes.”

“I don't know whether I want anything like that at Conway Towers. The last man who said it was his hobby
made it too much of a hobby altogether. He had to go in the middle of a term. Any athletic distinctions?”

“I got a half blue for boxing.”

“War service?”

“Commandos.”

“Hm. I don't think it would do at all. The other men wouldn't like it. They haven't got degrees, you see. My senior assistant has no qualifications on paper, but he's been with me eighteen years. He'd feel slighted, I think. I wanted a younger man. What brought you here, Mr …”

“Deene. I wanted to see you. To ask one or two questions.”

“Questions? Oh, I can see it would never do. Never. We are at cross-purposes already. I don't expect an applicant to ask questions. It's an excellent post. Three hundred pounds a year with board and residence.”

It had to end, though Carolus regretted the necessity. “I did not come to apply for a post on your staff,” he said gently.

“You didn't? Then what on earth did you come for? I was in the middle of a set of tennis. I understood you were an applicant.” Mr Topham's face suddenly changed and an ingratiating smile spread over it. “Perhaps you are a prospective parent? I mean, perhaps you thought of entering your son?”

“No. I wanted to ask you about some people called Jerrison.”

Mr Topham looked disappointed, flustered but, most of all, baffled.

“Jerrison? Parents of mine?”

“No, they …”

“They weren't those people who came to see me about young Foley, were they? Said they were his uncle and aunt? I had to phone Foley's parents, I remember, who
said that on
no
account … No, they gave their name as Jerome. I can't call to mind any Jerrisons.”

“They were on your staff,” put in Carolus sharply, but, as he saw too soon, ambiguously.

“On the staff? I've only had married couples twice. Both failures. Either the man has no discipline or the wife quarrels with Matron. Besides, a woman can't very well Take Games. It doesn't do. Now let's think. One of these couples was called Packham, so it can't be them … they … those. It must be the others. They were here more recently. Only stayed a term. Most unpleasant. The man called my senior assistant an old shellback. And the woman was a virago. Nothing less. She actually set about the Matron in front of some of the boys. I'm sorry to say they cheered. Most unseemly. It was soon round the school. Unluckily Matron suffered a small disfigurement for some days. A black eye, in fact. But you, who know how boys behave, will guess what impertinence this led to. ‘Oh Matron, what a beauty! ‘That sort of thing. Fortunately it did not reach the parents' ears, as these people were leaving, anyway. It must be these you are inquiring about. I can tell you at once—don't employ them. Better introduce a herd of wild buffalo into your school. When I paid the man, he walked out of my study singing the harvest hymn. You know—‘All is safely gathered in'. Can you imagine it?”

“Yes. But the Jerrisons were not on your teaching staff. They worked in the house.”

Light dawned.

“Oh, the
Jerrisons
!” said Mr Topham. “Of course. They're not thinking of returning to us?” he asked hopefully.

“I've no reason to suppose so.”

“Pity, that. The only time my wife was free of domestic troubles was while they were with us. Excellent people,
excellent. Even Matron admitted it, though she did complain that Mrs Jerrison was inclined to gossip. As I told my wife, that, coming from Matron, was … but never mind, they were the best servants we have ever employed.”

“Why did they leave you?” asked Carolus.

“Oh
that
! Most unfortunate, really. My wife is very meticulous about quantities, you see. She likes to measure things out herself. Sugar, tea, mar … butter, bacon and so on. Absolutely necessary in catering, as we do, for fifty-odd boys and a staff of eight. Through long experience my wife knows just the quantities. They are generous without being prodigal. But it seemed that this did not accord with Mrs Jerrison's ideas. There was some heated discussion concerning tea in the kitchen and cocoa at night. I forget the details. Tempers rose, however, and unfortunately Mrs Jerrison, who had been a treasure till then, used the word ‘stingy'. That was enough for my wife. She insisted that, treasure or no treasure, Mrs Jerrison must go. I tried to intervene. Matron did her best, but it seemed to add fuel to the flames. A tragedy, really.”

“Did you know anything about them before they came to you?”

“Oh yes. Unexceptionable references. He had a fine army record. She had been a sergeant in the WRAF. Their conduct was faultless until that distressing scene.”

“And since?”

“Ah, since. Yes, we did learn something. My senior assistant, a first-rate fellow, has one small weakness. He cannot resist a flutter. He follows horse-racing—avidly. It is his Achilles heel. I have had to mention it before now. There was an ominous silence from his classroom during the first period in the morning and I found that his boys were set to write an essay while he studied ‘formas he called it. While Jerrison was here, this was
greatly intensified. They apparently formed a co-operative. Undignified in a member of the teaching staff, as I told Breechman. But highly successful, I gathered. My senior assistant did not come to me for a single advance of salary that term. After the Jerrisons left there was an attempt to continue this by correspondence, so we learned where they were employed. They went straight from us to a seaside guest-house called Cat's Cradle.”

“Yes. I'm staying there.”

“Are you thinking of employing the Jerrisons?”

“No. I'm investigating two deaths in the house.”

Mr Topham winced. “I thought you said you were a schoolmaster?”

“I am. In term-time. But we all have our holiday relaxations. Yours, I see, is tennis.”

“You mean I have been called in from a very exciting set to assist in some kind of amateur investigation?”

“Two women have died rather mysteriously.”

Mr Topham began to splutter. “This is really too much,” he said. “I am not interested in mysterious deaths in guest-houses.”

“You see, you employed the Jerrisons. You were our only link with their past.”

“I will not be called a link!” said Mr Topham angrily. Then added more calmly. “Are the Jerrisons suspected?”

“Of what?”

“Of anything. You say there have been two deaths.”

“I don't know whom the police suspect, or whether they have any suspicions. I wanted to know anything I could about the people in the house.”

“So you drive up here posing as an applicant for a place on my staff, interrupt my well-earned relaxation and, saying you are a schoolmaster, ask me questions about a housekeeper and her husband we employed some years ago. I am glad I have told you nothing.”

“On the contrary, you have told me a great deal. I'm most grateful to you.”

Mr Topham made an explosive sound and showed Carolus out, not for the sake of politeness but as though he could not trust him alone in the entrance-hall.

D
URING
the few days after his return to Cat's Cradle, Carolus learned just what Helena had meant by an atmosphere of threatening stillness before a storm. For one thing, the weather, incredibly, remained hot and humid, though it was now well into September and everyone kept saying it couldn't last. For another thing, Miss Grey, who had never had a day's illness since coming to Cat's Cradle, complained of headaches and sleeplessness and said she was afraid the place was getting on her nerves.

“I don't know what to do,” Mrs Derosse confided in Carolus. “It sounds an awful thing to say, but when that happened to Sonia I thought at least it would mean the end of all this. Two deaths within two months—surely nothing else could happen. I thought, when they'd got over the tragedy of Sonia, people would be themselves again. But no. Steve Lawson walks about like a lion in a cage. He won't speak to anyone and looks as though he'd kill you as soon as look at you. He hasn't paid his bill for weeks, now. Even Mr Mallister, who has been quite a sheet-anchor all through it, keeping so calm about everything, has begun to get nervy. Now there are these headaches of Miss Grey's.”

“I thought your niece was a stand-by for you,” said Carolus.

“She means well, Mr Deene, but it seems to be getting beyond her. Mrs Natterley complained of someone walking about outside her room last night, though I'm sure it's just her imagination. My niece is very able and a good friend to me, but there's not much she can do. She keeps saying she has a plan which will clear it all up but, after all, she came before poor Sonia died and she wasn't able to prevent that. I do wish you'd find out what is wrong, Mr Deene. Mrs Gort says you're so clever at that and it's really terrible to go on like this. Haven't you any notion about it?”

“Yes. I have. I think one or perhaps several of your guests or staff are holding back information which they ought to have given to the police.”

Mrs Derosse looked distressed.

“Really? Oh, I should hardly think that. The police questioned us all very thoroughly. Have you anyone in mind?”

“Not yet. I hope I shall know in time. Mrs Derosse, was it your custom to visit Mrs Mallister's room from time to time when she was ill?”

“Of course. Several times a day. I usually saw her after meals to know that everything was all right. She never lost her appetite, you know.”

“When did you see her for the last time?”

Carolus thought there was a shade of confusion on her face.

“The day she died. Just after tea,”

“She had dinner that evening?”

“Very little. She told Mrs Jerrison she wasn't hungry. I sent up some turbot, I remember.”

“You didn't go up afterwards?”

“Not that evening. I was very busy downstairs.”

“Let's see, whose room is next to hers?”

This time Mrs Derosse looked uncomfortable. “Her room was on the corner. There is only one room adjoining it, really, that occupied by Miss Godwin and Miss Grey.”

“You don't know who did visit Lydia Mallister that last evening?”

“Miss Grissell nearly always went. Yes, I think she said at the inquest that she had been to see her.”

“When would be a good time to catch Miss Grissell?”

“When she comes in from her walk. She goes out most mornings about ten for a walk along the cliffs. She's usually back at midday.”

Carolus saw Phiz coming up the drive. She wore the kind of tweeds that led you to expect dogs at her heels, but there were none. That was the trouble with Phiz, Carolus reflected, she just missed her type. She looked like a woman missionary who had braved hardship and danger, but her petulant rudeness and self-opinionated vulgarity did not belong to those heroic women at all. She was a misfit, and, Carolus thought, a very unhappy woman.

“Good morning,” Carolus said as she approached.

“Hullo! Snooping?” she asked.

“Yes. Hard. Where
were
you on the night of the crime, Miss Grissell?”

“Is that meant to be funny?”

“Not at all. I'd like to know. I mean on both nights on which a woman died. Did you, for instance, see Lydia Mallister that night?”

Phiz gave a snort which was meant to express amusement. “I think you've got a nerve to ask me questions, but on the other hand I've got nothing, of course, to hide. Yes, I went to see Lydia as usual. After dinner.”