Nothing Like Blood (17 page)

“And was the visit—was she ‘as usual'?”

“‘Not in the least. She talked in a very odd way. Seemed to have forgotten our long friendship going back to school. Bitter and not very friendly. I've got no patience with that sort of thing. Told her that, ill or not ill, what she needed was a dose of salts. She gave a superior sort of smile to that and asked me if I thought I was still a school-monitor.”

“Dear, dear,” said Carolus, managing to look quite serious.

“She talked about that idiotic sister of hers. Pretentious, ridiculous woman. Remember her as a whining child. Lydia pretended that evening to feel some affection for her. I knew
that
to be hypocrisy. Meant to annoy me. Forgive most things to an invalid, but not that sort of humbug. ‘Why don't you get her to come and see you? ‘I asked. ‘It's too late for that.' ‘Don't be absurd, Lydia,' I said. ‘You may live a long time yet.' She answered quite calmly, but with a sharp undertone which I didn't like. ‘No,' she said. ‘You won't have to wait long now.' ‘Wait?' I said. ‘Well, aren't you waiting?' she asked. ‘You know I've left you something; you were always fond of money.' This was too much, and I told her I had no expectations from her and shouldn't wish to have any. Curious, because she
had
left me money. Quite a large sum. Only to spite her husband, though.”

“You really think that?”

“Sure of it. She had cut James Mallister out and had to dispose of the money somehow. Towards the end she had no affection for anyone but herself.”

“You are very hard on her memory, Miss Grissell.”

“I knew her. Knew her for forty years. Don't blame her for cutting out her husband. Running round with that dreadful Welton woman.”

“I think they are sincerely fond of one another.”

The sound which ‘Phiz my dear' made this time was something more than a snort, though rather less than a bellow.

“Fond? That woman is fond of whatever suits her. When we first came here she tried … she made attempts … she actually set her cap at my brother. I watched it. My brother, of course, soon showed her that he was not to be inveigled.” The bishop came towards them. “Telling him about the Welton woman,” said Phiz.

“Oh that! I think my sister read more into it than was there. But I must say frankly neither of us trusts those two.”

“Which two?”

It was Phiz who answered, using only the most hostile surnames. “Welton and Mallister,” she said. “You can be sure that, if there was anything irregular about the death of Lydia, those two had a hand in it. They didn't know Mallister had been cut out of Lydia's will.”

“That's a very grave suggestion,” said Carolus.

“I speak my mind,” retorted Phiz. “And I don't care who knows it.”

“My sister carries frankness to a degree at which, as I tell her, it becomes indiscreet,” apologized the bishop.

“Time someone spoke,” said Phiz. “Can't see people murdered and stand by doing nothing.”

“Did you see someone murdered?”

“Not actually. Almost as good as.”

“Perhaps you suspect James Mallister and Esmée Welton of having something to do with Sonia Reid's death?”

“No. That was obvious.”

“I think, Phiz my dear, that you had better say no more,” said the bishop anxiously.

“Unless, of course, you have some concrete evidence, when you should certainly give it to the police.”

Miss Grissell's snort was mild this time, as though from the depths of a feeding-bag. “I've the evidence of my own common sense,” she declared.

Realizing that he had reached a dead end, Carolus made an excuse to leave them.

After lunch he had an opportunity of approaching Miss Godwin and Miss Grey, though not as he would have liked, separately. They sat with their eternal tatting in a corner of the lounge, which was just then deserted. They smiled their permission for him to join them but, when he tried to turn the conversation on the events he was investigating, they were at first severely uncommunicative.

“I couldn't possibly discuss these things,” said Miss Godwin. “My friend Miss Grey is already suffering from sleeplessness on account of them.”

“Wouldn't it he better, then, if they could be cleared up? You see, Miss Godwin, you have the room next to the one in which Lydia Mallister died.”

“What of it?” asked Miss Godwin truculently.

“I feel that, if you cast your mind back, there might be something about that evening you remember.”

Carolus was surprised to find her eyeing him rather suspiciously.

“How could there be? “she asked. Then, more secretively, “Have you examined the bedrooms of this house?”

“Oh yes,” said Carolus.

“The cupboards?”

“Of course.”

“You
know
then?”

Carolus decided to take a chance.

“Yes,” he answered.

Miss Godwin and Miss Grey exchanged glances.

“Tell him all,” said Miss Grey. “It will be a relief.”

Miss Godwin hesitated a moment, then said: “The cupboards are built-in, as you have seen; the walls are thick, but the cupboard in our room has only a thin partition between it and Mrs Mallister's room. You saw that?”

Carolus nodded.

“We listened,” whispered Miss Grey.

“Not deliberately, of course,” said Miss Godwin.

“Well, not at first,” qualified Miss Grey.

“My friend Miss Grey and I have felt most uncomfortable about it. You see we heard things which might be … relevant. We have felt we ought to speak to the authorities, but naturally we didn't like to. It is a relief to be able to tell this to someone … a gentleman, who will treat it with discretion.”

Carolus was too experienced to suppose that he was about to have his problem neatly solved for him. But, to say the least of it, he was interested, until Miss Godwin continued dampingly: “My friend Miss Grey and I could not hear many actual words,” she admitted. “But the drift of the conversation was often plain. That evening, for instance, when Mrs Derosse came to the room …”

“At what time?” interrupted Carolus.

“About her usual time. Eight-thirty or nine. Miss Grissell usually called immediately after dinner. Then after a pause Mrs Derosse would arrive. As I was telling you, that evening there were quite loud words between them. I have always found Mrs Derosse the most gentle and amiable of people, but that evening I fear she lost her temper. It was quite distressing. My friend Miss Grey wanted us to intervene, but I dissuaded her.”

“You could not gather what had caused it?”

“Early in the discussion I did catch the word ‘turbot' but it seemed to go much farther than any petty question
of diet. It lasted some ten minutes, after which Mrs Derosse went out, not actually slamming the door, but closing it firmly.”

“Are you quite sure this happened on the evening of Mrs Mallister's death?”

“Oh quite. I know, because there had already been some hard words between Lydia Mallister and Miss Grissell, who visited her earlier. Nothing that Lydia said was audible, but Miss Grissell's voice is very penetrating. Very. In fact I heard her make a somewhat indelicate suggestion that evening.”

“Really? “
said the astounded Carolus.

“I scarcely like to repeat it, but she said that what Lydia should do was to take a dose of salts. Later she told Lydia not to be absurd. There was nothing perhaps in that. Miss Grissell is notoriously outspoken and they were old friends. But the quarrel with Mrs Derosse was most unusual.”

“Did anyone else visit her that evening?”

“Yes. And this is what has troubled my friend Miss Grey and me. After Mrs Jerrison had come to settle her for the night,
quite
late it must have been, past ten certainly, I suddenly heard Mrs Mallister say, ‘There you are, darling!' I had not even heard the door open. Someone had entered secretly, someone whom Lydia was expecting. I
think
I know who it was, but only from the timbre of the voice, really. It was Sonia Reid.”

“But that wasn't unusual, was it?”

“At that time of night? Most! And neither my friend Miss Grey nor I heard her go. How long she remained there talking in low tones, we do not know. Then there was a really horrid thing. My friend Miss Grey has never been a good sleeper. She woke in the small hours of that morning. When she looked at her watch it was nearly
three o'clock. And she heard”—”I am
almost
certain I heard, dear,” interrupted Miss Grey—” the door of Lydia's room being closed very softly, followed by footsteps past our door. She was not troubled by it at the time, Mr Deene. Lydia sometimes needed attention in the night. But since then it has disturbed Miss Grey dreadfully. It accounts for her insomnia, I am sure.”

“I'm very glad my friend Miss Godwin has told you,” said Miss Grey with a sad smile.

“So am I,” said Carolus prosaically. “You have helped me a great deal. Since his return from hospital, James Mallister has occupied that room, I believe.”

There was a certain stiffness noticeable in the two old ladies.

“I wonder whether …” Carolus began, but Miss Godwin spoke with horrified decisiveness.

“You surely don't suppose, Mr Deene, that my friend Miss Grey and I would allow ourselves to overhear anything from a
man's
room? “she said.

“The cupboard is kept locked,” explained Miss Grey more calmly. “And not used except during Mr Mallister's working hours.”

Thus reproved, Carolus left them and made his way to his room. He wanted time to sort out the things communicated to him that day.

Late that afternoon he had a talk with Esmée Welton, who came home earlier than Mallister that day. “James will be at the bank till late,” she said quietly, as though they were already married. “It's their monthly balance or something—I never know. It happens from time to time. James does not tell me much.”

“Doesn't he?”

“About his work, I mean. I'm glad, really. Men who talk about their work are apt to over-do it, I find. Especially when it's something dull like banking.”

“I told you I was trying to clear up the … mystery that has grown up round his wife's death?”

“I thought you said you were more interested in Sonia's.”

“It's impossible not to look for some connection between them.”

“I shouldn't have thought there was any. James doesn't, either. I know he has always thought Lydia died naturally.”

“And Sonia?”

“We did not know her very well. Just from living in the same house, you know.”

“You and she both went into Belstock every day?”

“Yes, but I have my car. Steve Lawson used to take her in his Jaguar. He sold it recently, I believe. Sometimes I gave her a lift back here, if I saw her. But we didn't get on very, well.”

“Would you mind telling me about the night of her death?”

“Certainly. What little I can. James and I decided to stay in Belstock for dinner that evening. There is quite a good restaurant called the Golden Plover. At least we thought it was quite good. We ate and had coffee and returned to Cat's Cradle in my car about ten. I was feeling awful. It came on suddenly, a terrible sleepiness and sick feeling. No one was about when we came in. I went straight up to bed. James thought it was something I had eaten. I didn't actually vomit, but could scarcely keep my eyes open. You know, that liverish feeling. I knew nothing more till I was awakened by a knocking on my door.”

“On
your
door?”

“Yes. It was Christine Derosse and Bishop Grissell. Christine said there had been an accident and they were just going round to see everything was all right. I was still
feeling drowsy. ‘Any need for me to come?' I asked and she said there wasn't. So I slept till the morning, then came down to hear what had happened.”

“So you didn't see Mr Mallister after … What time would it be?”

“Not later than ten-thirty when I went up to bed. He told me next day he went up soon afterwards.”

“Thank you, Miss Welton. What about the other night? On which Lydia Mallister died?”

“So far as I can remember, nothing special. James was in hospital and I had been to see him in the afternoon. I went to bed quite early, I think, with a book. I did not hear of her death till the following evening, when I got back from work.”

“What was your reaction?”

“It would be silly to pretend that for James and me it was not a relief. We knew she could not live more than a few days but … well, we're very much in love, Mr Deene. James had been devoted to her and did everything he could for her, but she really had a wicked tongue. You should talk to James. He will explain how we felt.”

Carolus did talk to James Mallister, later that evening. He found him as frank, apparently, as Esmée Welton, but rather a colourless character.

“I don't think I've much to tell you,” he said, “though, as I've told you, like everyone else, I'd like to help you get rid of all this doubt and suspicion. You know Esmée and I want to get married. You know I was in hospital when my wife died. You know about everyone's movements by now, I should think.”

“No,” said Carolus. “I don't know where you were when Sonia Reid died.”

Mallister smiled. “Nor do I, quite, because I don't know what time it happened. Esmée went up to bed as soon as we came in. That must have been at ten or half
past. I stayed up for half an hour or so, reading. Then I took myself off.”

“Did you see anyone during that time?”

“Steve came in, I think. He usually did before eleven, after the pubs shut. Looked as though he'd had a drink, but not tight. That was quite normal. I don't think I saw anyone else.”

“Did Lawson go up to bed?”