Chapter 13 #2
As Sybil reluctantly came to her feet, Daisy said, “Darling, would you like me to go up with you? I won’t cross the threshold. I’ll just wait outside her room, ready to hold your hand afterwards if you need it.”
“Would you, Daisy?”
“Miss Birtwhistle’s bound to be upset,” Roger said with a touch of impatience, “but she doesn’t bite. I’m going to see how Ruby’s doing.”
They all went up the east stairs. Roger turned right towards Ruby’s room at the front end of the wing. Sybil and Daisy turned left. Lorna’s room was in the part of the newer wing that shared a wall with the old house, right at the back. Sybil knocked on the door.
There was no response.
“Are you sure she went to bed?” Daisy whispered. “Perhaps she and Norman are carousing somewhere together.”
“In the estate office? I can’t see them carousing, but drowning their sorrows— No, I can’t imagine it!
They both always go to bed early and get up early.
It’s part of their martyr act, really. Admittedly, farmers do keep early hours, but Lorna insists on making breakfast for everyone, every day, though she and Ruby share most of the cooking. ” She knocked again, more loudly.
“What is it?” came Lorna’s sleepy, grumpy voice. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Sybil. I must speak to you.”
“I was asleep. Can’t it wait till morning?”
“I’m sorry, it’s urgent.”
They heard a thump, followed by a shuffling noise.
A couple more minutes passed before the door opened about four inches.
Lorna peered through the gap, holding up a candle.
If she had worn her hair in a fringe, it would have been in imminent danger, but the tightly pulled back bun had been replaced by a lank plait falling over her shoulder.
She had on a brown flannel dressing gown and the same carpet slippers in which she slopped around the house during the day.
“Well, what’s so urgent?” she snapped.
“I’m afraid I have bad news, Miss Birtwhistle. Perhaps you’d better sit down.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s happened that I have to be wakened for in the middle of the night, with all the work that’s to be done tomorrow? All the extra people may not make any difference to you, but—”
“Miss Birtwhistle, your brother—”
“Norman? Something’s happened to Norman?”
“No. It’s Humphrey. He died earlier this evening.”
“Humphrey!” Her sallow face paled still further and the candle drooped in her shaking hand.
Taking the candle from her, Sybil passed it to Daisy. She pushed open the door, took Lorna’s arm, and led the woman to a straight chair beside the iron bedstead, the only seat in the room.
Lorna sat down as if her knees simply gave way. “Humphrey?” she quavered. “He wasn’t really ill!”
“I’m sorry to bring such bad news.”
“He wasn’t all that ill!”
Daisy set the candlestick on the mantelpiece, noting the empty grate.
The cold, sparsely furnished bedroom was more evidence of Lorna’s determination to see herself as a martyr.
Though it was a good-sized room, with two big sash windows, the only other objects in it were a big wardrobe and a bedside table.
No looking-glass, unless there was one inside the wardrobe.
Perhaps Lorna felt no need to look at herself.
She was pulling herself together. “I suppose it was a heart attack. He wasn’t a young man. I don’t see why you couldn’t have waited till morning to tell me. There’ll be even more work than usual.”
“It may have been a heart attack,” Sybil agreed. “Dr. Knox can’t tell for sure. He wasn’t treating Humphrey for a heart ailment, so he’s not willing to sign the certificate without a second opinion. That means the police had to be notified. We thought you’d want to know before they arrive.”
“The police…” Lorna’s voice faded beneath the enormity of the thought.
“Daisy, do you think you can wrest the brandy from—”
“I won’t drink spirits!” Indignation revived her.
“And what the police want to come poking their long noses into respectable folks’s affairs that’s none of their business, I’m sure I don’t know.
Humphrey must have had a heart attack, that’s all there is to it.
I can’t see the police have any need to talk to me. ”
“Perhaps they won’t want to,” Sybil said soothingly. “It’s up to you whether you dress and come down or not. I just thought—Simon thought—you ought to know right away.”
“Why didn’t Simon come himself?”
“He’s telling Norman.”
“He could have sent that useless Myra, that’s at least one of the family.”
“Myra’s with Ruby.”
It was just as well Myra had come up to scratch, Daisy thought. So far Lorna had not, apparently, spared a thought for her bereaved sister-in-law.
“I dare say everyone’s expecting me to go down and rush about making tea and sandwiches.”
“I really can’t see any need for sandwiches,” said Sybil, beginning to lose her sympathetic, reassuring tone. “I was going to make tea myself. Would you like someone to bring you a cup?”
“I’m perfectly capable of making it myself,” Lorna snapped. “I might as well come down now. I’ll never get back to sleep.”
“And if you did, the police might come and wake you again anyway. They might even wonder at your sleeping in the circumstances!”
With this waspish remark, Sybil whisked out of the room. Daisy trotted after her, closing the door behind her.
“Oh, that bloody, bloody woman!” Sybil said, and burst into tears.
“Darling!” Daisy put her arm round Sybil’s shoulders. “Don’t take it to heart. You know she’s nasty to everyone.”
“It’s not that. How can she be so … so blasé about her brother’s death, and not even care for what Ruby is suffering?”
“It was a terrific shock to her. You could see that. People do react oddly to that kind of news, as if they haven’t assimilated it properly. Especially as it was a double shock, hearing about the police, too. Not everyone is as accustomed as I am to having them hanging about the place.”
Sybil summoned up a watery smile. “No. And I want very much to find out what excuse Roger has for mentioning your august connections. Let’s go down and corner him.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down for a bit? It’s been a very long day.”
“Oh, Daisy, you must be exhausted. I’m so sorry this happened while you were staying.”
“It’s my karma. My Indian friend Sakari told me so. Come on, let’s go and tackle Roger. He’d better have a good explanation ready!”
They went downstairs. Roger was standing on the hearth, staring down into the glowing coals as Ilkton had earlier. He looked even wearier than Daisy felt. He looked round at the sound of their footsteps.
“Here comes Nemesis, times two.” He added a couple of lumps of coal to the fire. “It’s going to be a long night, I’m afraid.”
“It’s already been a long night. How is Ruby?” Sybil asked as they all sat down.
“As well as can be expected,” the doctor said wryly.
“I told her I’d requested a second opinion.
She approved. She’s as anxious as I am to know for certain what Humphrey died of.
And when I explained I’d had to notify the police—well, she didn’t like the idea but she understands that it’s a legal requirement. ”
“And when you told her you had called in Scotland Yard?”
“Sybil, I haven’t ‘called in Scotland Yard.’ As I understand it, only the chief constable can do that.”
“True,” Daisy agreed. “And I can’t think of any good reason for him to want them involved in this.”
“I mentioned to the local man, Sergeant Ridd, that Mrs. Fletcher, a guest at Eyrie Farm, is the wife of a detective officer at the Yard, for which breach of confidence I repeat my apology. I can only say that I thought it justified in the circumstances. What’s more, I hope and expect that he’ll pass the information on to his superiors in Derby, and that they’ll decide they don’t want the responsibility of having to treat Mrs. Fletcher as a suspect, however unlikely. ”
“Roger, Daisy has no conceivable motive! So why—”
“Because if Humphrey was—helped to his death, someone in this house was involved. If it comes to a serious police investigation, frankly I don’t trust the local people to do a thorough job.
I’m afraid they’ll pick on the most likely person and look no further.
And let’s face it, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that they could pick either you or me.
Unlike Mrs. Fletcher, we both have easily conceivable motives. ”