Superfluous Women (21 page)

“My dear, the Labour Exchange, in High Wycombe. These days there are so many young men looking for casual work. Since the war, you know. They don't seem to be able to settle to anything. And some of them must have seen things as bad as … as what you need cleaned up.”

“You don't think it would bring back terrible memories?”

“One can but ask.”

“How does one go about it?”

As Mrs. Barnes explained the system, Sally came in with tea for four. Mrs. Turnbull took on the task of pouring. Daisy handed round cups and saucers before settling herself with a plateful of watercress sandwiches.

“Mrs. Fletcher,” said the rector's wife, “I want to thank you for shepherding Jeremy about London this afternoon.”

Daisy couldn't very well admit she'd been motivated as much by curiosity as any benevolent impulse, the latter in any case being directed towards Vera, not the rector. She muttered something deprecatory.

“Whatever he found out,” Mrs. Turnbull went on, “has disturbed him greatly. He can't make up his mind what to do about whatever it is.”

If Daisy correctly understood the situation, the rector had only two choices. He could confront Cartwright himself, or he could consult the Board of Governors and make them share the dirty work. For either alternative, he'd have to work out how to present his case persuasively, but persuasion should be a clergyman's forte.

“I hope he decides soon,” she said, thinking of the uncomfortable position poor Vera was in.

“It's something to do with Miss Leighton, I take it, as you and Jeremy laid your plans when she came to consult him.” Mrs. Turnbull's tone was noncommittal, but Daisy realised she was being genteelly pumped.

“It was a great relief to Vera to be able to talk to Mr. Turnbull,” she said. “His sympathy gave her hope.” Hope of what, she didn't specify.

“Vera's much more cheerful since seeing the rector,” Isabel confirmed. “And I'm much more cheerful since Mrs. Barnes has told me how to hire workers to clean the cellar. Daisy, pass those Shrewsbury biscuits, would you?”

Mrs. Turnbull offered refills of tea.

Daisy took a Bakewell tart and ate a bite of the almond-paste-topped pastry before succumbing to a different kind of temptation. “Did you know the Grays?”

“Not well.” Mrs. Barnes exchanged a glance with Mrs. Turnbull. “At least, Albert Gray and Ruth, his first wife, were sociable enough, but after she died he withdrew rather, stopped entertaining and refused most invitations. As his doctor, my husband must have seen more of him than I did.”

“We were all glad when he remarried, though a woman so many years his junior … Younger than his son, in fact. Well, that was none of our business, of course.”

“When was that?”

“Two or three years ago?”

“Nearer four,” said the rector's wife. “They didn't get married at St. Mary's. A registry office in London, I believe.”

Daisy instantly felt guilty for having done the same—chiefly to dodge the worst of her dowager viscountess mother's recriminations for marrying a middle-class policeman.

“Judith Gray wasn't at all interested in mixing with local people,” Mrs. Barnes elaborated, “not even the younger crowd. She had—has—friends in London and it's so quick and easy to get into town from here.”

“I'm sure it was her London friends who gave her the idea of moving to the South of France,” put in Mrs. Turnbull. “A visit to Paris, then off to stay with friends in a villa on the C
ô
te d'Azur until she finds a place to buy. Or so rumour has it.”

Daisy was dying to ask whether rumour ever spoke of the possibility of Judith Gray having deliberately hastened her husband's end. Assuming Dr. Barnes had been his doctor, Mrs. Barnes would surely be aware of any such insinuation. Such a query would be crass, however, much worse than just asking whether they had been acquainted with Mrs. Gray.

How neatly they had all avoided mentioning that the subject of their gossip had more than likely been murdered!

Mrs. Turnbull regarded the scant remains of their tea with a sigh. “What an excellent tea the Saracen's Head does, and how lucky I come here rarely. I must be going. Jeremy will be wondering where I've got to.”

With much goodwill expressed, the older ladies prepared to depart. Scarves were knotted, hats straightened, gloves donned, handbags gathered. As they moved towards the door, Sally entered.

“Are you going? I'm ever so sorry I didn't come and ask did you want more hot water or anything else. We've been that busy, I've been run off my feet.”

“We had all we needed, thank you, Sally,” said Mrs. Barnes.

“And more,” Mrs. Turnbull added ruefully.

Sally saw them out, then turned back to Daisy and Isabel and started collecting the tea things. “They're nice ladies, aren't they? But we got a right lot of ghouls in the dining room. Asking nosy questions about you ladies, miss, you and Miss Leighton and Miss Chandler, and you, Mrs. Fletcher, and the chief inspector.”

“What did you tell them?” Daisy asked.

“Not a blinking thing, madam, nor I wouldn't have if I'd got anything to tell.”

“I'm sure you do, so thank you for keeping quiet.”

“Happy to oblige, madam.” Grinning, she picked up the tray and left them.

“She must have enjoyed foiling the busybodies,” said Isabel, adding ruefully, “Is that why Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Turnbull were so pleasant? Just to persuade us to pass on the details?”

“I don't think so, though it was a bit of a fencing match at times. At least, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have asked any awkward direct questions. Sally's pretty sharp and she called them ‘nice.' Remember, last night Mrs. Barnes met Willie and Mrs. Turnbull met Vera. They realised they couldn't possibly be murderers, so they wanted to meet you—”

“To ‘vet' me.”

“Don't we all vet new acquaintances?”

“True. Then you believe they really will call once we've got things straightened out?”

“Definitely. And with the doctor's wife and the rector's wife both on calling terms, the rest will soon come round.”

“I expect so.” Isabel gave a sigh of satisfaction. “I must say, it'd be nice if people smiled and said good morning when I go shopping. Escape from Coventry. Not that I've ever been to Coventry—I don't suppose it's any worse than Huddersfield.”

Daisy laughed. “I couldn't say, I've never been to either. Now, let me tell you what the rector and I found out and then I'm going to lie down for a while, if you won't think it frightfully rude.”

“You must be exhausted, Daisy. You've been dashing about as if you weren't still convalescent.”

“I do feel a bit limp. It was worth it, though. Listen!” She described the visits to the two schools. “So the rector has no reason to doubt Vera's story and Cartwright hasn't a leg to stand on. I'm off. Tell Vera when you see her, if the rector hasn't.”

“I will! And I can't thank you enough—”

“Please don't. I'll see you later.”

On her way upstairs, Daisy met Vera coming down. She looked tired—as who wouldn't after a day in a classroom full of small children—but as if a burden had fallen from her back.

“Daisy, I'm—”

“Dying for your tea, I'm sure. Izzie's in the parlour. I'll see you later.” With a wave, Daisy escaped and trudged on up the stairs.

She was pleased with her day's work. Vera's problem was well on the way to being solved, and the prospects for an end to Isabel's isolation looked good. What was more, she could confirm to Alec and DI Underwood that Cartwright was a ladies' man, with a tendency towards violence.

He had physically assaulted three women. Had he attempted the same trick with Mrs. Gray? Unlike the three junior teachers, she would have had no reason to keep quiet, so he'd have felt he had to silence her.

Alternatively, Miss Mason's young man was mistaken and Cartwright and Mrs. Gray actually were having an affair. She might somehow have found out about his behaviour with the others, leading to a quarrel. Unless she was having an affair with Vaughn …

By this point in her musings Daisy had kicked off her shoes, put her feet up on the bed, and leaned back against the pillows. She fell asleep.

 

TWENTY

Daisy awoke
feeling much refreshed. With more than enough time to wash and change before dinner, she stayed put, watching in a detached way the curtains flap in a determined breeze blowing through the part-open window. (“Less than four inches is a draught,” her nurse had always said; “More than four inches is fresh air.”) She was thinking drowsily about getting up when Alec came in.

“Daisy, are you all right?” he asked in alarm.

“Perfectly all right, darling.” She sat up. “Why shouldn't I be?”

“It's not like you to take a nap between tea and dinner!”

“I'm still sort of convalescent, according to Isabel, at any rate. Besides, I've had a busy day.”

“So I've heard.”

“Oh, blast, have you been talking to the rector? I wanted to tell you myself.”

“No, he was out when we called, as was his wife.”

“Must have been teatime. She joined us for tea, Izzie and me. The doctor's wife, too. It's no good asking either of them about Mrs. Gray, though. They barely knew her.” Daisy passed on what the two had said.

“Thanks. That's much the impression we've been getting from everyone. But what I really want to know is what the dickens you and the rector were up to?”

“Mr. Turnbull had some questions he wanted to ask Vera's two predecessors at the school. I offered to drive him so that he wouldn't have to work out the underground and buses and so on.”

“Nothing to do with the case, then?”

“Just some information he hoped would help Vera.” Daisy added cautiously, “But we did come across something that might help you, too.”

“Oh yes?”

“You needn't sound so sceptical!”

“You must admit it's a bit odd that the rector's quest to help Miss Leighton just happened to result in
you
finding evidence for the police.”

“Serendipity. Well, I did hope—the very vaguest of hopes…”

“Otherwise, no doubt, you wouldn't have offered Mr. Turnbull your services as chauffeur.”

“But so vague, I was sure it wouldn't count as interfering. You were going to interview Mr. Cartwright, weren't you? After he barged in on you and Underwood and the superintendent?”

“Of course. Though we were pretty certain his outburst was irrelevant as the victim couldn't have told lies regarding an investigation that didn't start till long after she died.”

“So you wouldn't press him too hard. Have you seen him already?”

“Underwood sent someone to get a statement.” Alec considered for a moment. “I can't see any reason not to tell you. Cartwright said he'd had one too many whiskies and thought he saw his wife going into the snug to complain to the landlord about letting him run up a bill he couldn't afford. His wife confirms that he spends far too much on drink but swears she wouldn't demean herself by speaking to a common publican.”

“At that point, Sally had left and I was the only woman in the snug. Does she look at all like Sally or me?”

“Hm, I wonder if … The constable who called on her described her as a sour-faced shrew with a bad perm.”

“Darling, really! It's a clever story, though. It puts him in a bad light so you wouldn't be inclined to investigate any further.”

“All right, what did you discover?”

“He never misses an excuse to cane or rap the knuckles of the unfortunate children he's supposed to teach.”

“Many schoolmasters do that, and schoolmistresses, too.”

“Many don't. At the least, it shows he's not averse to violence. Also, he's a lady's man, given to forcing unwanted attentions on defenceless females.”

“Is he, now! Including Miss Leighton, I presume.”

“You'll have to ask her, and the others.”

“Others? Miss Sutcliffe and Miss Chandler?”

“I wouldn't call them defenceless, would you?”

“Who, then?”

“I can't tell you that. Ask the rector. But Mrs. Gray could have been one of those he approached. Perhaps he was rougher with her than he dared to be in the schoolroom, and she fought him. Or perhaps he was actually her lover, and they quarrelled.”

“Pure speculation,” Alec scoffed automatically, but he looked thoughtful.

Daisy let him think for a moment, then went on, “Or perhaps the sour-faced shrew found out about their affair and attacked Mrs. Gray.”

He groaned. “I can't dismiss any of your wild guesses out of hand. You'd better change your clothes if you want any dinner.”

“Are you insinuating that I'm a mess?”

“Yes, love. Stating rather than insinuating. Better than being sour-faced but you look exactly as if you've been sleeping in that dress. As you have.”

This Daisy could not deny, so she let the dress be crushed a little more in his arms, and they went down late to dinner.

Willie, Vera, and Isabel were already on the main course, so Daisy and Alec waved but didn't join them. The room was packed, but Sally had saved a table for the Fletchers. She brought steaming bowls of soup.

“Mulligatawny; I hope you like it. Then there's veal and ham pie or Dover sole. I heard you went and saw Auntie May this afternoon, Mr. Fletcher. Did she snap your head off?”

Alec smiled at her. “I have a tough head, don't worry. Daisy, what will you have?”

“The sole, if it's really fresh?”

“I wouldn't offer it to
you,
Mrs. Fletcher, if it wasn't. Come straight from Billingsgate this very morning, on ice all the way.”