The Trouble With Harry (8 page)

Captain Albert Wiles, ex-lighterman of the Thames barges, sat with Miss Graveley and looked up at the moon with a great deal of satisfaction. They sat together on a fallen tree in one of the little pools of silky grass. The captain puffed at his pipe and marvelled at the amazing convenience of life.

‘Funny, y’know,’ he said.

Miss Graveley looked at him, politely. He puffed again, manufacturing a small cloud of silver-blue smoke through which he regarded her, kindly and gratefully.

‘Funny the way we’ve got all friendly in one
afternoon. I knew you wasn’t as prim and starchy as they made out, mind, not by a long chalk.’

‘Really?’ said Miss Graveley.

‘I’m a man as can recognise the human qualities in a woman,’ said the captain, switching his gaze to the moon and beyond the moon to Deptford and the Thames reaches. ‘When I first saw you and your trim little craft down there behind the hollyhocks I said to myself—’

‘Captain Wiles.’ Miss Graveley interrupted his flow of talk to save herself further acute embarrassment.

‘Ma’am?’ The captain was back to earth again and feeling a little apprehensive. He had to remember that what was considered a good line in Limehouse might easily be a
faux pas
on Sparrowswick Heath.

‘Before you make your kind thoughts known to me,’ said Miss Graveley, now studying her feet, ‘I would like to offer you some explanation of my sudden invitation to tea – and my walking with you here this evening—’

‘No, ma’am!’ exclaimed the captain, holding up his hand in protest. ‘You don’t have to explain nothing, ma’am. You come to my aid at a time of
crisis, ma’am, for which I’m truly grateful. If I was being at all familiar, or speaking out of turn, as they say, then I’m sorry. The truth is, ma’am, I’m a man of few words. A clumsy oaf, you might say, when it comes to expressing appreciation—’

‘Not at all, Captain. On the contrary, I find your company delightful. It’s just that I owe you some reason—’

‘I won’t hear of it!’ The captain said. ‘If you think I think I shall get a wrong opinion of you for asking me to tea and to walk, then I assure you I won’t, ma’am. You saw the predicament I was in this afternoon – with that body on my hands and so on – and you shut your eyes to it in a proper sporty fashion, if I may say so—’

‘It was about the … er … body that I wished to speak …’

‘Say no more!’ said the captain. ‘I was coming to that myself. I’m glad to tell you that my alarm this afternoon was completely unfounded. The fact is, I lost my head, not being used to shooting people in cold blood, y’understand—’

‘Captain Wiles!’ said Miss Graveley, with sudden determination and firmness.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ said the captain.

‘I am trying to tell you that I asked you to tea because I felt—’

‘Sympathy!’ exclaimed the captain. ‘Ah, I know a sympathetic woman when I meet one. Sympathy, and sociability and—’

‘—gratitude!’ exclaimed Miss Graveley, wedging the word so neatly that the captain had to stop and examine it.

‘Gratitude?’ he said, turning it over. ‘I’m the one who should be grateful—’

‘No.’ Miss Graveley now took control of the conversation. ‘I was grateful – I
am
grateful. I’m grateful to you for burying my body.’

The captain now stared at the lady in the moonlight, forgetting to smoke his pipe. At last he said: ‘Your body?’

‘The man you thought you’d killed,’ Miss Graveley explained, ‘was the man I hit on the head with my ice-calf brogue.’

The captain could only say: ‘You hit Harry on the head with your ice-calf brogue?’

‘He annoyed me,’ said Miss Graveley, a flush
coming to her face at the memory. ‘I was walking towards home when he came rushing up to me with a wild look in his eyes and demanded his rights.’

‘His rights?’ said the captain.

‘He tried to make me believe we were married,’ she said. ‘And believe it or not, Captain Wiles, I had never seen him before in my life – and if I had, I would never have married him!’

‘What did he do?’ said the captain.

‘He pulled me into the bracken—’

‘Yes?’

‘I came out again—’

‘Go on.’

‘He pulled me back—’

‘He did?’

‘He swore at me – horrible, masculine sounds. I didn’t understand them, of course—’

‘Course not!’ said the captain, seething with indignation at the thought of it.

‘We fought,’ said Miss Graveley, looking away into the night, her face grim, her hands tightly clenched.

‘Then what?’

‘I won,’ said Miss Graveley, not without some
pride. ‘My shoe had come off in the struggle. I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could – on the temple, where David hit Goliath.’

‘And you killed him!’ Looking at the
middle-aged
spinster, the captain found the fact difficult to assimilate.

The lady shrugged. ‘I must have done. I was annoyed, Captain. Very annoyed.’

‘Naturally,’ said the captain.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so annoyed. Consequently, I didn’t realise my own capabilities.’

‘Whew!’ murmured the captain, looking at her with a new admiration. ‘It seems to me that Mrs Rogers knocked him silly and you finished him off.’

Miss Graveley turned a puzzled stare on the little captain, who was now relighting his pipe. ‘Why would Mrs Rogers knock him silly?’

‘She was really his wife,’ the captain said.

‘Poor woman!’ Miss Graveley said. ‘I thought she had better taste.’

‘I think she can be exonerated,’ said the captain. ‘You see …’

The captain talked until Miss Graveley had all the facts and could see. When he had finished she said: ‘You know, Captain, when I ran away I decided not to tell a soul what had happened – it’s an undignified thing to happen to a woman of my years—’

‘Not at all—’ the captain began. Then: ‘I mean, you’re not at all old. I mean …’ He trailed off, his words miserably inadequate for expressing what he did mean. Then he lit his pipe and sat there saying nothing.

‘I was saying,’ said Miss Graveley, ‘when I ran away I decided not to tell anyone what had occurred. Then I met you and thought how convenient it was that you should think you had shot him – you must forgive me for thinking that.’

‘Only natural,’ said the captain.

‘And that’s why I felt so grateful to you,’ she said. ‘I felt – I still feel – under an obligation to you.’

‘Not at all,’ said the captain. ‘Let’s forget it.’

‘No, no!’ she exclaimed. ‘We mustn’t do that. It would hardly be fair to you – I mean for you to go through life knowing you’d buried a man
you didn’t kill. You would have my crime on your conscience—’

‘It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,’ said the captain.

‘But no! Now I realise that man was out of his mind and that my action was justifiable, there’s no reason why we should not let the authorities know—’

‘The authorities?’ The captain looked at his companion in sharp alarm. The thought of digging Harry up again made him perspire.

‘Then the whole matter will be disposed of nicely,’ said Miss Graveley, ‘I’m sure the police won’t make a fuss about it when we all explain. Perhaps it needn’t get into the papers at all—’

‘Don’t you believe it, ma’am!’ the captain exploded at last. ‘They love it, the papers, this kind of thing. Murder and adverts, that’s what they live on. You let him be. Just forget it ever happened, same as what me and Sammy and Jennifer is going to do.’

‘Ah, but it isn’t your body,’ said Miss Graveley. ‘After all, I killed him, so it’s only fair I have the say-so—’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes—’

‘I thought you would! I tell you what, Captain Wiles, we’ll go and get a spade now—’

‘—but—’

‘And afterwards,’ said Miss Graveley brightly, ‘I’ll make you some cocoa.’

Above the bungalows in a small clearing in the thickest part of the wood stood an old barn with a thatched roof. This barn was seldom seen or visited by anyone for there was no real path leading to it and the wood was overgrown with brambles and thickets. The glade in which it stood was just large enough to allow the sunlight to green the grass and the moonlight to flood it with black shadows.

The barn had two windows, both of them clean and bright and thoroughly out of keeping with the old black timber which formed the walls. From the thatch a bent pipe came out at a silly angle; in the winter this
pipe sent smoke up through the trees which crowded closely around. It was an ancient building which had been made fit for human habitation.

To this barn, around ten-thirty that night, came Sam Marlow, Jennifer Rogers and Abie. Sam came first, holding the brambles above Jennifer’s head and lifting Abie through the darkest and scratchiest patches. At last they stood before the old building and Jennifer was glad there was insufficient light for the artist to observe her true reactions.

‘You can’t live here!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had no idea you were a hermit.’

Sam said nothing at once but strode forward and flung open the door. Then, looking back at her, he thumped the doorpost with his fist. ‘If your bungalow were half as good and solid as this,’ he said. ‘If your bungalow had stood for one tenth as long as this,’ he said. ‘If your lopsided little shed of a place had so much as a splinter of good English timber in it—’

‘Sam!’ Jennifer joined him in the doorway and laid a hand on his arm, preventing further damage to his fist. ‘I’m sorry. Honestly. I had no idea you were in love with the place.’

Sam said: ‘Was I shouting at you?’

‘A little,’ Jennifer said, ‘but I asked for it.’

Sam said: ‘No, it’s me, Jennifer. I’ve always found it difficult to be polite or sociable for more than ten minutes at a time. I was sent down for pulling the Dean’s nose.’

Jennifer waited to hear him laugh, but he didn’t. He maintained a sober expression that forced her into laughter. ‘How lovely! What a wonderful thing to do.’

‘Do you believe that?’ Sam said, looking at her almost eagerly.

‘Of course I believe it. There must be thousands of people going through life with a miserable repression just because they didn’t have the courage to pull the Dean’s nose.’

Abie forced his way between their legs and into the barn. Sam and Jennifer followed him: Sam lit a match and applied it to an oil lamp which stood with its tall glass chimney on a rough table.

The room was so large that the light would not go into the remote corners. On the floor, which was built evenly and scientifically of wooden blocks, was
a fine and brilliantly coloured carpet. The rough table on which the lamp stood was the sawn bole of a gigantic tree which seemed to be growing out of the floor. Jennifer looked at the room while Sam looked at Jennifer and Abie went exploring.

‘What do you think of it now?’ Sam asked.

‘It’s wonderful – like Aladdin’s cave,’ she said. She looked at the high, beamed roof the walls smothered in a haphazard yet tasteful fashion with all kinds of paintings and drawings. There were dozens of carvings, too – ships, dogs, men, and women who stood without arms but quite complete in every other respect. ‘Wonderful!’ she said again. ‘You’re really awfully clever, Sam. You should make your fortune.’

Sam shrugged. ‘I think I have my fortune,’ he said. ‘Plenty of freedom; plenty of space and trees. Big things, trees. You can sing at the trees, and shout at them. You don’t have to be sociable or polite to them. They just stand there and listen and wait …’

Jennifer looked speculative. ‘But don’t you sometimes feel like eating gingerbread, Sam?’

Her question startled him. ‘Who, me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

Jennifer laughed shortly and ran her fingers through her small son’s hair. ‘It’s funny, but I feel awfully comfortable with you. It’s nice to be forthright with somebody as – as forthright as you.’

‘Who, me? Forthright?’

‘Yes. Talking to you I feel like a character in a novel – you know how forthright they have to be or they’d never get their story over before the last chapter. In real life people spend fifty per cent of their lives hiding what they want to say behind their vocabulary and the other fifty per cent trying to find out what other people are hiding.’

Sam returned her gaze, seriously. He said: ‘I like the way you talk and the things you say.’

‘Can I have some gingerbread, Mummy?’ Abie said, looking up at them and rubbing his eyes.

Jennifer laughed at Sam over the small boy’s head. ‘It’s well beyond his bedtime. I’d better get him home.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Sam said.

‘There’s no need,’ Jennifer said. ‘It’s quite late.’

‘I want a piggy-back,’ Abie said.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Sam said.

After Abie had gone to sleep Jennifer made coffee. They were about to drink it when there came an urgent knocking at the door. It was the new captain and Miss Graveley. They came into the room blinking against the light. The captain was shirt-sleeved and perspiring and in one hand he carried a spade.

‘What's happened?' Sam asked.

‘I've got something to tell you,' said Captain Wiles.

Miss Graveley gripped his arm. ‘No, captain.
I
have something to tell them.'

‘Make up your minds,' Sam said.

Miss Graveley struck an impressive pose. ‘I killed
Harry Worp,' she said, ‘with my ice-calf brogue.'

Jennifer yawned. She said: ‘Oh, him.'

Sam looked at the captain and said: ‘Told you so.'

Miss Graveley looked around at them. ‘We're on our way to telephone the police,' she said.

Sam and Jennifer sat up and took a great deal of notice.

The captain made an apologetic face behind Miss Graveley's back. ‘I keep telling her there's no need. They've got plenty of bodies without this one.'

‘You're right,' said Sam. ‘It wouldn't be decent. He's dead and buried.'

‘He's not, you know,' said the captain, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

Sam almost gaped. ‘You haven't dug him up
again
?'

Miss Graveley intervened. ‘I insisted, Mr Marlow. You have nothing to fear. It is my concern entirely. As soon as I heard the full circumstances of his being here I knew there was nothing for me to hide. Nobody could possibly gossip about a lady and a maniac.'

‘You'd be surprised,' Sam said. ‘I don't think you realise, Miss Graveley, what murder involves – hours
and hours of questioning; photographs; the whole of your private life spread indecently in the newspapers.'

‘And what makes you think my private life is indecent?' Miss Graveley enquired acidly.

The captain smiled secretly at the artist's embarrassment.

‘I didn't mean that. It's the way they pry that's indecent. They'll worry you to death. Policemen, news-reporters, detectives—'

‘I have made up my mind,' Miss Graveley said. ‘It was the captain who persuaded me to call and tell Mrs Rogers what I proposed doing. After all, she's most closely connected with the business. What do you think about it, Mrs Rogers?'

Jennifer poured two more cups of coffee. ‘I can't think why you're making such a fuss about Harry. If he was buried, then I can't see why you had to dig him up. But since you've dug him up, I don't see why you shouldn't do as you think best.' She added: ‘Frankly – have some coffee? – I don't care what you do with Harry as long as you don't bring him back to life.'

Miss Graveley accepted the coffee. ‘I have a free hand, then?'

‘Quite, so far as I'm concerned—'

‘Just a minute,' Sam interrupted. ‘I think you've forgotten something, Jennifer. If this comes out, do you realise that all the details of your marriage will be public property? Including the origin of Abie?'

‘Oh,' Jennifer said.

Miss Graveley looked concerned. ‘I must confess, I hadn't thought of that, either.'

The captain sipped his coffee noisily and with relief.

‘Where have you put the body this time?' Sam said.

‘Top of the heath – near that clump of silver birch,' the captain said.

‘I'll get my spade,' Sam said, in a flat, resigned voice.

Miss Graveley sighed. ‘I'm afraid I'm causing you rather a lot of hard work. I'm sorry.'

‘Not at all,' Sam said.

Jennifer said: ‘Let's all go up there. I've never witnessed an unofficial funeral.'

‘This is my third.' The captain got to his feet and glanced ruefully at the clock, which now stood at eleven-thirty. ‘All in one night, too.'

Presently the four of them were walking the moonlit paths of Sparrowswick Heath looking for
Harry. The body was not as easily located as Captain Wiles had implied, there being many clumps of silver birch at the top of the heath. But at last the captain plunged away from them through the heather and bracken and small fir trees.

‘Here he is,' he called. ‘Come on, you take his feet, Sammy; I'll have his shoulders.'

Sam and the captain carried the body back towards the grave while the women walked behind like a pair of indifferent mourners.

‘How about a little service?' the captain suggested, as they held Harry over the deep hole.

‘I can't think of anything to say,' Sam said. ‘Besides, my arms ache.'

‘Drop him in,' Jennifer urged. ‘It's too late to say prayers. Wherever he was going he must be there by now.'