Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
“Mrs. Sutherby’s right,” said Neil Carey. “The sooner you notify the police the better.”
“I can’t see that it makes much difference.” Ilkton was uneasy. Naturally he hadn’t expected his pursuit of Myra to lead him into such troubled waters. “There’s nothing fishy about it. It was surely a heart attack or a stroke.”
“We can’t be sure. Ring up now, Simon.” Sybil looked to Daisy, who nodded confirmation, hoping it looked like mere agreement.
She managed not to say anything about obstructing the police in the course of their duties, which would be liable to give away an unseemly familiarity with police procedure.
The less the local force knew about her connection with Scotland Yard, the better.
They were apt to be very touchy at the slightest hint that the Yard might find an excuse to trespass on their territory.
And Alec’s boss, Superintendent Crane, was apt to be very touchy at the slightest hint that Daisy had got herself involved yet again in anything remotely criminal.
Roger Knox came in. “Did you get through already, Simon? Is Harris coming?”
“I haven’t tried yet,” Simon said sulkily.
Taking in the empty brandy glass at a glance, the doctor laid a hand on his shoulder. “No, I’m sorry, it was too much to ask. You’re in shock. Now I’ve settled your mother—and Myra is looking after her surprisingly competently, I must say—I’ll do it myself.”
“Roger…” Sybil hesitated. “I suppose you can’t tell us any more about … what’s happened?”
“The less said the better, I think,” he said gently, “until the police get here.”
“But that won’t be till the morning!”
“I’ll try to persuade them to get a move on.”
“The fog…”
“Haven’t you looked out of a window recently?
The fog is clearing. I shouldn’t be surprised if we have rain before morning.
There’s nothing to stop them coming tonight—other than indolence.
I must get another doctor here quickly, though.
Simon—No. Carey, do you know how to deal with an oil lantern?
Would you mind lighting the one in the porch? ”
“Sure and I’ll do it this minute, Doctor.”
“Thank you. Excuse me.” He went to the telephone.
Carey crossed to the front door. Beside it, on a small table stood an unlit lantern. “This is it, I take it?”
“That’s the one,” Sybil told him. She went over to help. “There’s a pole in a bracket on the wall, just behind the edge of the curtain—Yes, that’s it, for lifting the lantern to its hook outside. Have you got matches?”
“In my pocket. Here.” Carey handed her a matchbox to hold while he opened the lantern.
Daisy tried to ignore them and listen to the doctor. The Matlock operator must have answered promptly, because a moment later Knox asked for the police station.
“Sorry,” said Sybil, “I don’t have much to do with the housekeeping. Simon, where’s the lamp-oil kept?”
“Huh?”
“The lantern’s low on oil.” Carey came over, carrying it. “Be a good chap and show me where to refill it.”
Simon levered himself out of his chair and the two men went through to the back regions. Sybil left the matches on the table by the door and sat down again with Daisy and Ilkton.
Meanwhile, Knox had been speaking in a low voice and Daisy, to her annoyance, had missed what he was saying.
Ilkton, silent for some time, now said, “I’m afraid you’ve lost your employment, Mrs. Sutherby.” He didn’t sound very interested.
“Eventually, yes, but I’ll finish what I’m working on now. And I expect Mrs. Birtwhistle will need help dealing with Humphrey’s papers. I can’t worry about that now. Poor Ruby! I must admit, Myra seems to have turned up trumps. I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.”
“Everyone here underestimates Myra. I’ve noticed it. She may be what they call a ‘bright young thing’ in town, but she’s not one of these brittle, shallow girls who care for nothing and nobody. Unlike most, she’s very well-mannered and sweet-tempered.…”
Daisy tuned out his catalogue of Myra’s virtues like an unwanted wireless station, straining her ears to pick up Roger Knox’s words. He was still talking too quietly, until he said with irritated emphasis, “I am the local police surgeon, Sergeant. I want a second opinion.”
Then he lowered his voice again. Ilkton was still boring on about Myra, with Sybil throwing in an occasional absentminded comment as if to keep him talking so that she could think about other matters.
Daisy tossed in an innocuous remark to help keep the pot boiling. Just as her attention returned to the doctor, he said loudly, “Yes, Scotland Yard, dammit, man! A detective chief inspector. So if you’re calling in your inspector from Derby, you’d better…” Once again he lowered his voice.
Daisy fixed an accusing glare on Sybil. After swearing not to reveal Alec’s profession to a soul, she had told her Roger! Her apologetic look showed she, too, had heard what he said.
They couldn’t have it out in Ilkton’s presence. At least he seemed to be winding down at last.
“So, obviously, she’s much too sensitive to have to deal with cloddish policemen. As neither of us had anything to do with whatever happened to Birtwhistle, which in any case I’m certain must have been a heart attack, the best thing I can do is take her away.”
“You can’t do that,” Daisy reiterated Carey’s assertion.
“The fog has lifted, Knox said so. We could leave immediately.”
“If Myra’s so sensitive,” said Sybil stringently, “and please note I’m not denying it, she wouldn’t dream of abandoning her aunt at such a moment.
Besides, the police are bound to want to speak to both of you.
You can hardly expect the rest of us to keep your presence here a secret!
I can’t believe you want to have them chasing after you, like a pair of felons! ”
“The press would probably get hold of the story, too,” said Daisy.
“You can’t have thought. You don’t want to start married life with a scandal round your necks.
And quite apart from the police, they’d have a field-day with the two of you going off together in the middle of the night, as if you were eloping. ”
“I suppose so.” Ilkton managed to sound both disconcerted and annoyed. He summoned up a smile. “Nothing but the best for Myra. I’m concerned only for her comfort.” He greeted the return of Simon and Carey with relief. “You managed all right, did you?”
“Weren’t we after making a bit of a mess of it,” Carey admitted cheerfully, “but we cleared up as best we could. Now to tackle hanging it up.”
Simon slumped into a chair. He leant forward, elbows on knees, his head in his hands. Carey gave him a pat on the back with the hand that wasn’t holding the lantern, and went on towards the front door.
Ilkton muttered something about making sure he didn’t make another mess and went after him.
“Escaping from us,” said Daisy. Simon was on the far side of the fireplace, so as long as she and Sybil kept their voices down, they could talk without his hearing. Not that he appeared to be in a state to take in anything he heard. “The conceit of that man!”
“Don’t you think it’s rather sweet, the way he wants to protect Myra?”
“I suppose so, but he seems to think he’s a superior being, above being troubled by a murder investigation like the rest of us.”
“Don’t say that, Daisy! Not about Ilkton’s conceit, I mean murder. It can’t be! Roger’s just being careful, because he’s not absolutely sure—”
“Very careful, if he’s going to the lengths of invoking Scotland Yard.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.
I didn’t mean to, it just slipped out. It was when I was trying to decide whether to talk to him about my suspicions.
I thought he’d be more likely to take me seriously if he knew I’d invited the wife of a Scotland Yard detective to visit.
But he didn’t seem particularly interested, and then you persuaded me not to alert him. ”
“As I recall, you persuaded yourself. Never mind, it’s no use crying over spilt milk when the cat’s out of the bag, to coin a proverb.
My guess is, Roger had his own suspicions about the cause of Humphrey’s illness and didn’t want to worry you by making a thing of it.
Not knowing you were already wondering, he’d assume it was sheer chance my husband’s being a…
” Daisy glanced at Simon. He was surely blind and deaf to the world, or he would have reacted by now to what she and Sybil had already said.
She decided on caution all the same. “Alec being what he is.”
“You’re hoping to keep it from the others, still?”
Daisy sighed. “Probably impossible, but yes. I’d rather they didn’t start giving me peculiar looks.”
The looks Roger received—when he finished on the telephone at last and came over to the fire—were accusing. “My apologies to both of you,” he said wearily. “I’ll explain later,” he added, as Ilkton and Carey came in from the porch and Simon raised his head.
“What about Aunt Lorna and Uncle Norman? With the coppers about to invade shouldn’t you wake them up and tell them?”
“Don’t you think that’s your responsibility?”
In the pause while Simon absorbed the import of this question, Carey said to Ilkton, “Time for us to fade away?”
“Definitely.”
And fade away they did, in the direction of the dining room, with a stop en route at the sideboard for a bottle, two glasses, and a couple of packs of cards.
Simon sat up straight. “I’ll tell Uncle Norman, but I’m not waking Aunt Lorna. Myra’s the one who should do that.”
“Myra’s with your mother,” Sybil reminded him. “I’ll go, if you like. Even though I’m not family, at least I’m female, and I get on with Lorna as well as anyone does.”
“Which is to say, not very well,” said Simon. “But you are practically family, and I’d be very grateful if you’d tell her about … Father. Oh well, here goes!”
He went off to climb the west staircase as if it were a mountain.