Superfluous Women (10 page)

“Where was Miss … hm, Sutcliffe while this was going on?”

“In the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the meal. It smelled wonderful.” Daisy sighed. “But of course we never got to eat it.”

Underwood clucked in sympathy. “Miss Chandler asked the chief inspector to have a go at the lock?”

“Alec offered. Willie produced a bent wire coat hanger that Isabel had already used to try to open it, in vain. We all trooped along to watch Alec. Isabel came out of the kitchen, too. He jemmied the lock in just a few seconds and opened the door. It was horrible!”

“I hate to ask you this, Mrs. Fletcher, but can you describe the body for me? The way it lay, the clothes and so on.”

“Not me. The stench made me turn tail before I caught so much as a glimpse.”

“And your friends?”

“I passed Willie. The others reached the kitchen scarcely a step behind us, though, and one of them slammed the door. Vera. After asking Alec if he was coming.”

“Presumably he said no.”

“I didn't hear. Anyway, he didn't join us for several minutes. He said— But that's hearsay, isn't it?”

“Not exactly, not if you're telling me what he said about his own actions.”

“Oh.” She nearly asked if he was sure, but it didn't seem tactful. “He said, as far as I remember, that he'd opened the front and side doors and lots of windows, for which we were duly thankful, and that he had to ring up the police.”

“He didn't tell you what he'd seen?”

“No. Obviously it was a human body, or he wouldn't have gone off to notify the local coppers. The GPO hasn't put the phone in yet.”

“They've been known to dally. What did you ladies talk about while he was gone? Any theories as to who it might be?”

“Not from me. Except, I did wonder if it might be a burglar, but they hadn't seen any signs of burglary. Do you know yet how long she'd been there?”

Underwood frowned. “Mr. Fletcher told you it was a female? Just you, or all four?”

“All of us. I think he wanted to see how they'd react.” Wrong thing to say, she realised at once.

The inspector looked thunderous. “He did, did he!”

“That's only my guess. It's instinctive with Alec. He's been a detective a long time.” To deflect him, she asked again, “Do you know when she died?”

“Not till the autopsy, if then. How long have the ladies lived at Cherry Trees?”

“A couple of weeks. I don't know the exact date. Someone said they were free to move in anytime after the first of October. Again, that's something you'll have to ask them. Or her lawyer, or the estate agent.”

“Do you happen to know the names of those two?”

“Not the lawyer's.” She kept quiet about Alec having asked for it. “The agent is Vaughn.”

“Donald Vaughn, that'd be, of Langridge's in High Wycombe?”

“Don't ask me. Anyway, the neighbours probably know when they moved in, even though they haven't exactly been friendly.”

“No?”

“Not actively unpleasant, I gather, just not welcoming.”

“Yes, well, we'll be talking to them in any case.”

“Of course. You'll want to know when they last saw Mrs. Gray.”

He gave her an odd look, part annoyance, part curiosity. “Indeed. You seem familiar with police methods.”

Not for the world would Daisy reveal that she'd been mixed up in more than a few cases. “I
am
married to a copper.”

A muffled snicker came from DC Pennicuik. Daisy didn't dare glance his way. She wondered just how the inspector and Alec had worked out their relationship in this case. Usually it was easy to tell whether the local man resented or welcomed the assistance of Scotland Yard, official or not. Insofar as she could judge without observing their interaction, Underwood seemed ambivalent.

“We seem to have got sidetracked,” he said mildly. “You mentioned talking with your friends about servants. Have they any?”

“Not live-in. Just a char three days a week. Mrs. Hedger—she'd be the best person to ask about the date they moved in. She worked for the previous owner and just stayed on, taking care of the house, when Mrs. Gray … left. If she left. Sorry, but one can't simply turn off one's brain!”

Underwood heaved a deep sigh. “No, I suppose it's too much to expect of the modern young woman.”

“It seems pretty plain to all of us that the chances are she's either the body or the murderer.”

“Mr. Fletcher's suggestion?”

“As I remember,” Daisy said dryly, “Miss Chandler was the first to voice the probability. No doubt Alec had already considered it, being a policeman.”

 

NINE

DC Pennicuik
escorted Daisy back to the lounge. She was glad not to have to find her own way through the passages. Suddenly she was very tired.

Six men were in the residents' lounge now. A third had joined the original two; another pair, one smoking a cigar, consulted over a map spread on a table before them; and one solitary sat hunched over a mug of beer, contemplating his sorrows by the look on his face.

“Looks like the ladies moved to the other room,” Pennicuik said uneasily, “unless they've scarpered.”

“Nonsense. They have no reason to run away.” Daisy trudged over to the connecting door. “If they're not here, they'll have gone up to their room. They're staying at the Saracen's Head, you know.”

“Oh. Umm.” The young detective turned bashful. “Umm, would you mind taking a look, madam? I didn't ought to go into the ladies' parlour, not without it's urgent. Mr. Underwood wants to see Miss Leighton next, if you wouldn't mind asking her to come out.”

She took pity on him. Besides, it would be silly for him to knock and wait for someone to respond when she was going in anyway. And it never hurt to get on the right side of a copper, however junior.

“Hold on half a mo, then.”

The three looked round as Daisy entered and closed the door behind her. In her absence, they had all acquired drinks, which did not seem to have cheered them up.

“What's he like?” Willie asked.

“Not bad.” Daisy plumped into the nearest chair. “He doesn't bite.”

The feeble witticism made them laugh more than it deserved.

“We were just talking about whether we ought to get a dog,” Isabel explained, “thus locking the stable door after the horse has been stolen.”

“I would. Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Underwood would like to see Vera.”

“Me? Why me? I mean, why me first?”

“I've no idea. A random choice, I imagine.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose so. Couldn't Willie or Iz go first, then?”

“He asked for you. You'd better go.”

“Buck up, Vera, don't be such a drip,” Isabel admonished her. “Daisy said he won't bite.”

“He doesn't suspect Daisy, and she's married to a chief inspector. Daisy, would you come with me?
Please!
”

“I doubt he'd let me.”

“What about Alec? If he—”

“He didn't stay with me, and Mr. Underwood told him not to come and talk to you, so that's even less likely. All right, let's see if he chucks me out.” She struggled wearily from her seat.

“You're worn out,” said Willie with concern. “Vera, I do think you might—”

“It's all right,” Daisy repeated. “I don't mind, honestly.”

“Here.” Vera picked up the glass beside her. “I haven't taken a single sip. You drink it.”

Daisy didn't ask what it was, just took a couple of swallows. Gin and tonic, which she didn't much like, but the warmth that coursed through her brought a smidgen of energy.

“Come along.” As she opened the door, a mutter of voices in the residents' lounge ceased. She noticed that all the residents present were watching PC Pennicuik, who shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. In a low voice, she introduced Vera: “Miss Leighton, Officer. I'm going with her.”

“Uh, I don't know if the gov'nor…” He looked round at the avid listeners. “We'll talk outside.”

Their footsteps sounded loud on the bare boards. Behind them, the muttering started up again.

Pennicuik almost slammed the door behind him.

“They're talking about us,” Vera said despairingly.

“They're strangers,” Daisy pointed out, “or they wouldn't be in there.”

“I'm sorry,” Pennicuik blurted. “I wish I didn't look so much like a copper.”

“It'll wear off,” Daisy consoled him, “the longer you're a detective.” She had kept walking fast while they spoke, and they had nearly reached the landlord's snug before the constable realised it. She shephered Vera in.

“Mrs. Fletcher?” Underwood rose. “Did you remember something—?”

“'Fraid not, Inspector. Miss Leighton asked me to come and support her. With your permission, naturally, but I can't see why not.”

“You can't?” He gave her an incredulous look and glared at Pennicuik, entering after the ladies.

“Sir, I couldn't—”

“I didn't give him a chance to stop me, so don't berate him. Go on,” she said persuasively, “let me stay. I promise not to say a word, just to hold Vera's hand. Metaphorically.”

“Miss Leighton?”

“Oh, please! I've never had anything to do with the police.…”

Not for the first time since he'd made Daisy's acquaintance, Detective Inspector Underwood sighed. He waved them to seats.

The edge that had been in his voice when questioning Daisy completely vanished as, in a most prosaic tone, he requested Vera's full name and address. Next he asked for her previous address, the temporary lodgings in High Wycombe, and before that, in Yorkshire.

“I grew up in Yorkshire,” she volunteered, already much more comfortable with the situation, to Underwood's credit. “My father is a canon at York Minster.”

“I expect he would have liked you to stay at home?”

“Yes. He didn't want me to train as a teacher in the first place, but Mother coaxed him round. I didn't want to spend my entire life in the Minster close, and I knew I'd end up living at home if I worked in a school in York, so I looked for a position in Huddersfield. You won't have to tell him about … this, will you?”

“You're an independent adult, Miss Leighton. I can't foresee any reason why I'd have to approach your family, though I can't promise. Why did you—all three of you ladies—choose to move south?”

Daisy knew he had to ask everyone more or less the same questions so as to compare their answers. Moreover, so far he hadn't obtained this particular information from those concerned, only from Daisy herself and possibly from Alec, at one further remove. Hearsay, she told herself. Vera's account was no different from her own. Boring. Her eyelids drifted downward and the voices seemed to come from a long way off.

She wouldn't be much comfort to Vera if she fell asleep. Blinking hard, she tried to concentrate, as the inspector obliquely approached the happenings of the day.

Vera was distressed in spite of the kid glove treatment. Altogether natural, in Daisy's view. She herself would prefer not to talk or think about the discovery of the body. It had been a horrid experience, even though Alec had borne the brunt. But Vera's upset now was of a different nature from her near-panic at the prospect of the interview with the police. Puzzling over the difference, Daisy missed another chunk of Vera's evidence.

Talking about the murder evoked in the schoolmistress horror, pity, and a certain detachment. There had been nothing detached about her fear of stepping alone into the lion's den.

DI Underwood had turned out to be not such a lion after all, and Vera seemed quite at ease.

So was it just fear of the unknown, her lack of experience dealing with the police, that had sparked her earlier alarm? Or was the cause deeper, something that had happened to Vera.… Daisy had a feeling that if she could remember everything everyone had said today and at tea on Friday, she would have a clue to … to what?

She must have nodded off for a minute or two, because the next thing she heard was the inspector saying incredulously, “Nothing?”

Vera's response sounded defensive: “Why should they gossip about their neighbours to someone they barely know? All they want to talk about is their children.”

“The children don't tell you things?”

“About their own families, yes. Since I've been here, I've heard nothing I can't handle myself, nothing that would make me report to the authorities.”

“You don't overhear the mothers talking to each other?”

“I don't listen,” Vera said primly, with a hint of rebuke. “What they say to each other is none of my business.”

Underwood coughed, raising his hand to his mouth—to hide a smile, Daisy suspected. “Very proper, I'm sure. What about your colleagues? You don't chat with them?”

“No.” The single syllable was adamant, but Vera's voice trembled as she explained, “The only other teacher is the headmaster.”

The inspector looked at her with narrowed eyes. “His name?”

“C-Cartwright, Roger Cartwright.”

Underwood didn't pursue the subject, to Daisy's disappointment. She wanted to know what was going on between Vera and the headmaster. On the other hand, she didn't at all want Vera crying on her shoulder, so it was just as well that DI Underwood decided to end the interview.

Perhaps he, too, was keen to avert tears if possible. Alec always had a couple of extra handkerchiefs in his pockets in case of weeping witnesses, suspects, and even villains.

Underwood thanked Vera for her assistance, warning her that he'd probably have more questions for her later. He told Pennicuik to escort her back to the others and return with Miss Chandler. When Daisy started to stand, he said to her, “Just a moment, if you please, Mrs. Fletcher.”