Chapter Twenty-Six #2
Daisy went upstairs to fetch her hat and gloves.
One of the school umbrellas leant against the wardrobe, where she had left it after returning from church.
It ought to be returned, as should the one Sakari had borrowed, but Daisy refused to carry two umbrellas through the town and up the hill.
Her shady straw cloche was adorned with a jaunty cockade, and she did wonder for a moment whether she should buy a black ribbon to substitute.
However, it would be pure hypocrisy to don any sign of mourning for Harriman, she decided, besides looking very odd with her flowered blouse.
The Market Square, King Street, and the High Street were busy with Monday morning shoppers. Two or three women nodded to Daisy in a friendly way. They must be Friends, with a capital F, who had seen her in Meeting, she presumed.
Considering all Gant’s bustling about, the news of Harriman’s death must be widespread, even if it hadn’t yet reached the national press, but the inspector might very well have kept quiet about Daisy’s connection with it.
The last thing he’d want was to have the name of Fletcher—Mrs. Alec Fletcher—associated with his murder case.
Daisy paused at the top of the High Street, where it forked, to look at the War Memorial.
So many names, representing so much misery!
She crossed the street to read the inscription: “For perpetual remembrance of the men of Saffron Walden who laid down their lives for their country in the Great War 1914–1919. The victor heroes rest in many lands but here the symbol of their glory stands.”
What price glory? The glory faded but the misery dragged on and on.
Daisy crossed to the Debden Road and went on up the hill to the Sanatorium. A ping on the bell in the hall brought no response. She assumed Sister was dealing with a patient, so she sat down to wait.
Several minutes passed. Wondering whether to go in search of Sister, or even the girls, Daisy regretfully decided that the risk of walking in on some embarrassing nursing procedure was too great. Then the front door opened and Miss Bascombe came in.
“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher. I didn’t … Sorry, I…” As she turned slightly to close the door behind her, Daisy saw that her face was very pale, her shoulders slumped.
“Come and sit down, Miss Bascombe. You don’t look at all well. I’m not sure where Sister is. Shall I go and find her?”
“Oh no, I’ll wait. I just…” She dropped limply onto a chair. “I have a simply awful headache. Matron gave me a powder last night, but it didn’t really help. I hope Sister’s got something stronger.”
“I expect so,” Daisy said, sympathetic and encouraging. “Headaches are miserable. One can ignore pain in a foot or an elbow, but when it’s in one’s head, it’s impossible to get away from. I thought you looked not quite comfortable in Meeting yesterday.”
“Yes, I … It was already coming on a bit. Oh dear, was it so obvious?”
“Not to people whose thoughts were where they should have been. I’m rather inclined to watch people, I’m afraid, as some people watch birds. Shepherding all those girls down the hill and back can’t have helped.”
“No. Though they’re very good, really. Most of them, most of the time. You … watch people?”
“That sounds awful, doesn’t it? As if I’m a terrible busybody! But I don’t go poking into people’s lives, let alone gossiping about them.” Except, naturally, in the detection of murder, but that couldn’t really be classified as gossip. “I’m interested in people and I just can’t help observing.”
“I know what you mean. I have to watch the girls, of course, mostly to help them with sports, but also to make sure they don’t get hurt.”
“You have training in first aid?”
“Oh yes. You have to to teach physical education—that’s what we really prefer to ‘games,’ actually.”
“I’ll try to remember,” Daisy promised absently, glad to think that Miss Bascombe would have checked that Harriman was dead before moving him at the risk of causing his death—if her speculations had any foundation in fact.
“It’s a different kind of watching from when I’m Duty Mistress.
” Miss Bascombe had a little colour in her cheeks now, her headache apparently forgotten as she became interested in the conversation.
“Then it’s more a case of watching their behaviour.
First you have to make sure they’re obeying the rules, but sometimes you can tell that someone’s upset about something, and then sometimes they’ll talk to you about it, and sometimes you can help them.
That’s what I like best about this school.
The school I went to, as long as you did your lessons and obeyed the rules, they didn’t care much if you weren’t happy. ”
“Mine, too. Sometimes it helps just to talk about what’s worrying you, don’t you find?”
“I … Yes, but … It’s not … Other people are involved, you see. And it was all a dreadful accident in the first place! We couldn’t refuse to help, could we?”
“If you’re quite absolutely sure it was an accident…?”
“Oh yes!”
“And your help didn’t … um … didn’t make things worse for … anyone else?”
“It was too late,” Miss Bascombe said simply.
“Then what’s done is done, and there’s no point worrying about—” Daisy suddenly thought of a snag. “That is, as long as someone else isn’t blamed for it.”
Miss Bascombe looked horrified. “No, that would be terrible!”
“Well, yes, but on the other hand, it may not happen.”
“It may, though. We ought to talk about it, decide what we’d do if…
” She spoke with a new determination. “Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher, you’ve helped me see things straight.
I was so muddled before. Now I know what to do, or at least what we have to discuss.
Even that’s better than just feeling completely lost. Do you know what time it is? ”
“Ten to ten.”
“I must run. I’ve got a class in ten minutes.” She jumped up. “Oh, I do hope your daughter is all right.”
“I haven’t seen her yet, but I don’t suppose there’s anything much wrong.”
“I hope not.” With that she whisked away.
Daisy had heard that confession was good for the soul; also for headaches, it seemed—those caused by an uneasy conscience and no clear course of action, at least.
From Daisy’s perspective, the best thing about it was that no one, not even Alec, could expect her to report anything so vague to the police. She understood because it fitted in with her favourite theory, but Miss Bascombe hadn’t actually made any statement implicating anyone in anything criminal.