A Ghost in the Machine (22 page)

During the journey home the one or two remarks that Kate offered were met with a vacant stare and almost inaudible mutterings. Kate was disturbed by the stare, which was without either light or intelligence.

But the worst moment was when they actually arrived at Appleby House, and she tried to help Benny from the car. Benny struggled on her own for a moment, then took Kate's arm and tried to smile. It was a heartbreaker, that mockery of a smile, and it really did for Kate. She started to cry. Benny didn't cry. Not then or for a long while to come.

 

Later that afternoon the Parnells called round to offer their condolences. Judith brought a large bunch of sweet peas and Ashley a bowl of glowing, nearly black cherries. They sat down in the kitchen, taking a cup of coffee. Ashley spoke first, awkward but with obvious sincerity.

“We were both very sorry to hear the news. He was an old friend, I believe.”

“Yes,” said Mallory. “A kind man. Very…decent.”

“Benny must be extremely distressed.”

“But she'll have you, won't she?” put in Judith quickly. “I mean—you won't be going back straight away?”

“No. Not until the inquest is over.”

“When you do she must come over,” suggested Ashley. “For meals or just to spend time. She shouldn't be on her own.”

Judith shifted uncomfortably in her seat and stared out of the window through which beams of sunlight poured.

“One of us will stay,” said Kate. She didn't add that Benny hardly seemed to notice whether other people were present or not. “Apart from removal day, that is.”

“And when is that?” asked Ashley.

The conversation moved on. Mallory was grateful for Ashley's lack of prurience. He had been braced for questions along the lines of: what actually
happened
? How come it was you who found him? What did the police say? Was it anything to do with those machines?

Mallory had had the first of these quasi-concerned exchanges that morning while out buying some milk. A man he vaguely recognised from Carey's funeral stopped him on his way back to Appleby House.

After the opener: “How awful for you what a shock my deepest sympathy I understand it was an accidental hanging one of those big ropes in his museum,” the man, eyes shining, put his hand on Mallory's arm. “Talking things through can be a great help. I live at Mon Repos and was a close friend of your aunt, name of Lattice. Please feel you can come at any time. Day or night you'll be most welcome.”

An unpleasant experience. All very well for Kate to say it was just human nature. There were certain aspects of human nature Mallory felt he could well do without, especially in his present state. He tuned back into the conversation.

“So I feel a bit embarrassed,” Ashley was saying, “introducing such news at a sad time but you've always been so kind…” He was speaking to everyone but looking mainly at Kate.

“It is a sad time,” repeated Judith firmly. “So I think we should be—”

“Sorry,” interrupted Mallory. “I missed that last bit.”

“They've found out what's wrong with Ashley,” said Kate.

“That's marvellous,” said Mallory. “At least, I hope.”

“It's pericardial disease.”

“Pericarditis,” corrected Judith.

“They think it might be from when I was working in Africa—”

“Over ten years ago.”

“And the chances are it can be treated.”

“Oh – I'm so glad,” said Kate. “Let's hope the waiting list—”

“We're going private,” said Judith. “Seeing a Harley Street specialist the week after next.”

“Jumping the queue.” Ashley laughed.

“We are not jumping the queue. We're joining a different, shorter queue. Thus leaving a space, incidentally, for a National Health patient.”

Kate filled an awkward pause by getting up from the table, saying, “I must find a vase for your flowers. They smell wonderful.”

While Kate was running water at the sink someone knocked loudly at the outside door. Ashley, being nearest, opened it, and with such an absent-minded, comfortable air Judith couldn't help wondering if he'd done it more than once before. The postman stood fair and square, mail bags lapping at his ankles.

“Any empties?”

“'Fraid not,” said Kate. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“How many's that so far?” asked Ashley.

Mallory started bringing them in. “Thirteen.”

“You must be overwhelmed,” said Judith. “And here we are holding you up—”

“Perhaps I could read some for you, Kate,” said Ashley.

Kate turned, scissors in one hand, a chopped-off bunch of sweet pea stems in the other. She was about to accept with gratitude when she noticed Judith squinting against the sun, her face a mask of malign intensity. She looked angry and jealous and afraid.

Kate said, “That's kind of you, Ash. But, to be honest, most of them won't be worth it.”

There were a few letters in the post as well. Some were for the Celandine Press but there were also a couple of bills. Mallory was just putting them under his coffee cup when Mrs. Crudge put her head round the door.

Judith hurried over to Ashley then and dragged him off, saying they had a million things to do. Mallory thought Ashley looked as if he had very little to do and would much rather have stayed behind. Through the open kitchen window Kate could hear them in the porch. Judith was saying, “Since when has she been calling you Ash?”

Mrs. Crudge came in a little further. “Just popped round to say I'm sorry about earlier, Mrs. Lawson. But I'll be in ten sharp tomorrow as usual, all right?”

“Of course it is,” said Kate. “Stay and have some tea as you're here.”

“That's all right. I expect Ben'll be making a pot.”

Kate was glad Benny had a visitor. Especially one who was an old friend. Perhaps she would feel able to talk to Doris. So far she had hardly spoken, either to Kate herself or to Mallory. Of course, these were very early days. Kate put the flowers on the table and went off to attack the bags. Mallory, expertly concealing his enthusiasm, trailed behind.

But they had no sooner turned the nearest one upside down than Mrs. Crudge came in carrying a large plastic carrier.

“That was quick,” said Mallory.

“How was she?” asked Kate, nearly adding, “and how are you?” for Mrs. Crudge appeared pale and quite disturbed.

“I don't know what to say,” replied Mrs. Crudge, sitting on the sofa. “It's not Benny—I know that much.”

Mallory said, “She's had a severe shock.”

“She looked straight through me as if I wasn't there. Just put this in my hand and started shouting: ‘Take them away! Take them away!' Then I was outside again.”

“What's in it?” asked Kate.

Doris turned the bag upside down and out fell Benny's beautiful peacock-blue jacket and long skirt, underclothes, stockings and shoes. Also her wig with the curls like brass sausages. Even the watch and earrings she had been wearing the night before.

“What shall I do?” asked Mrs. Crudge. “Take them to a charity shop?”

“Not down here,” said Kate. She started putting the clothes back. The chances of Benny ever seeing anyone wearing them must be a million to one. Even so. “I'll do it in London.”

Later, after Mrs. Crudge had had some tea after all and a bit of a cry, Kate and Mallory planned a desultory early dinner – the rest of Mallory's pea soup and bread and cheese. Benny did not share the meal, explaining, when Kate rang through, that she had stuff in her fridge that might spoil if it wasn't eaten up.

Kate had no way of knowing if this was true and suspected it wasn't. However, there was not much she could do. The fact that Benny had refused to eat with them and done her own thing was so extraordinary in itself as to cause slight concern. But she plainly did not wish to talk to anyone and that wish must be respected.

As they were sitting down to eat the telephone rang. Mallory leaped to answer it and Kate saw his expression change from hope to disappointment. He said, “Yes, fine…That might not be possible…All right. Thanks for letting me know.” Then hung up.

“The inquest,” he explained. “Ten thirty, Friday. The coroner's court. There's a proper letter in the post. I won't necessarily be called but I should be there.”

“What ‘might not be possible'?”

“They say Benny—”

“Oh, no!” cried Kate. “She can't…she's in no state to answer questions. She can't even talk to us.”

“Don't get upset—”

“It's just not on, Mal. If she was still in hospital they couldn't call her.”

“I'll get hold of Cornwell. He'll have a word with them, explain the situation.”

But to both Kate and Mallory's surprise when Jim Cornwell called around after a visit to Benny's flat he said she was determined to go to the inquest. She was, in fact, quite fierce about this.

Both the Lawsons were disturbed at the news. Convinced that Benny had not really grasped what an inquest involved, they hoped, by the time Friday arrived, to have persuaded her against it.

The next thirty-six hours passed in a sort of limbo.

Things that had to be done were done. Benny pulled up a lot of weeds and watered tomatoes and peppers in the greenhouse. Doris came, cleaned, gossiped in a generalised, harmless way, and went. Kate and Mallory worked through nearly all the mail bags. Just a couple, the very first to arrive and consequently at the bottom of the pile, remained.

The submissions were almost as dire as Kate had feared. A few had the saving grace of being funny, albeit unintentionally. Mallory dipped into one, gushingly overwritten and starry-eyed, all about putting on a school musical. He had sat in on enough rehearsals of such mind-numbing entertainments to last him several lifetimes. All the performers wanted to be pop stars and the show was invariably misdirected by a completely talentless English teacher flinging himself excitedly about the stage like Warner Baxter in
42nd Street.

“Look at this,” Kate was exclaiming now. She had emptied the first of the remaining bags and was holding a long, narrow parcel wrapped in heavy watermarked parchment and sealed with red wax. It had an air of tremendous self-importance. Inside there were folds within folds of stiff brown paper tied with curtain cord and also sealed. There was a covering letter.

“It's from a Mr. Matlock.” She opened the letter. “Sidney. Who is ‘the sole surviving member of a post-war observation team and whose work, scrupulously annotated, herewith comprises this noble document.'”

Mallory laughed out loud. “You're kidding.”

“Maybe we've found another
Spycatcher.
It's certainly in some sort of code.”

“Let's have a look.”

Kate passed some sheets of foolscap over. They were set out in columns. Engine capacity and numbers. Fuel load. Departure and destination times. Locomotive base shed. Name and number of driver and fireman. It was proudly described
The Precise History of Locomotives Departing and Returning from Euston Station to Nuneaton Trent Valley During the Years 1948–1957.

“Trainspotting!”

“Don't laugh,” said Kate. “It's his life. Poor old man.” She replaced the book in its envelope and decided to use registered mail when sending it back. That was another thing she had thought of too late: return postage. She would make sure it was mentioned in any future advertisements.

They checked out the remaining manuscripts. One, described as the writer's “hilairos adventures in Morroco,” was called:
Thongs Aint What They Used To Be.
It had beer stains and lots of strangely placed quotation marks. Kate liked “fish ‘and' chips” best. There was a thriller calling itself fast-paced, with a plot that started on page 160 and finished three paragraphs later. A comedy –
Lord of the Flies
– about a randy window cleaner, and a sad ecological tome about a tribe of frogs who caught a virus from polluted lily leaves and were making their way to the promised sea led by a philosophical windbag, Old Croaker. The others were mainly dreary diaries styled after the manner of Bridget Jones, but without the jokes and decent prose style.

“No good?”

“Makes Tom Clancy look like Homer.”

“I thought Homer had a beard.”

“Let's open a bottle.”

The three of them ate together that night. Mallory and Kate, walking on eggshells, made innocuous conversation. They touched on the garden, the hopeful news about Ashley's illness, the warm beauty of the day. Benny said very little but ate most of what was on her plate before laying her knife and fork edge to edge together. Kate recalled a phrase her mother frequently used about people recovering from an illness or unexpected disaster. “Going gently along.”

Earlier, before Benny arrived, Kate and Mallory had discussed whether or not to mention the inquest. They decided, if Benny herself did not bring the matter up, they would not. Both still hoped she had changed her mind. But then, toying with a bowl of raspberries still warm from the sun, Benny began to talk about it.

First she asked a few questions and was reassured. Yes, they would be taking her and bringing her home. Yes, Mallory was certain they would all be able to sit together. No, there wouldn't be a witness box and judge and people in wigs. And he was sure there was still time to get some sort of dispensation if Benny was worried.

But Benny was not worried. Something – she had assumed it was the drugs, though they must have worn off by now – was holding the terrible events of the present and immediate past at bay. It was as if she viewed them through the wrong end of a telescope. Far distant and shrunken, they had lost the power to harm. But Benny also understood that this situation was temporary. That the pain – and she knew it was there, crouching, biding its time – was merely on hold.

She didn't have the time or energy, though, to grieve right now. Things had to be put right, procedures followed, starting with the inquest tomorrow. That was the first step. Then the investigation. Then the capture and punishment of whoever had committed this wicked, wicked crime.

 

The coroner's court was packed. Everyone from Forbes Abbot who was not housebound or working was present, and several, it was noted, who should have been at work and who appeared to have taken the day off.

As cleaner of the premises that had housed the lethal machinery Mrs. Crudge had half expected to be called and had had many serious conversations with Ernest as to how best to present her evidence and what hat to wear. Now, uncalled but still feeling entitled to a certain status, she seated herself in a prominent position next to the Lawsons and Benny Frayle.

The proceedings opened with evidence from Mallory Lawson of Appleby House, Forbes Abbot. On the evening of Tuesday the twenty-fourth of July he was expecting a friend Dennis Brinkley for dinner. When Mr. Brinkley did not arrive he called at his house in Hospital Lane, Forbes Abbot. Here he found the body of a man, later identified as Mr. Brinkley. He did not touch or handle the remains in any way but notified the police.

Sergeant Roy Gresham of the Causton Constabulary gave the time of his arrival at Kinders as 8:23 p.m. and continued: “After viewing the body I called for an ambulance and a police photographer. I obtained the name of the dead man's doctor from Mr. Lawson and contacted him. I examined the scene and could see no outward sign of foul play or that any other person had been present there.”

At this there was a cry from the court and Doris saw Benny's auburn wig turning urgently to Kate, who was sitting next to her. Everyone was straining to see who had called out and murmuring among themselves. The coroner appealed for quiet and Benny subsided, Kate's arm around her shoulder.

“I also,” concluded Sergeant Gresham, “failed to discover a note or message of any kind from Mr. Brinkley.”

“You wouldn't,” cried Benny, not bothering to lower her voice.

“We have a lot of business to get through this morning,” said the coroner. “If you can't keep quiet, madam, you'll be asked to leave.”

Written evidence from the ambulance staff was then read out by the clerk, as was a letter from Dr. Jim Cornwell, who had identified the body.

Finally Leo Fortune of Brinkley and Latham, thought by the police probably to have been the last person to talk to the deceased, was called.

Asked about the dead man's state of mind at this point, around five thirty on the evening that he died, Fortune replied: “Dennis seemed his usual self, calm and quiet. We'd just finished discussing a new account and were about to leave the office. This was about five thirty. It was a beautiful evening. I asked if he was doing anything special and he said having dinner with some friends. I got the impression he was very much looking forward to it.”

Fortune was thanked and stood down. He was the last witness. An air of disappointment possessed the assembly. The whole business had taken no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. The coroner expressed his sympathy for the friends and relatives of the deceased before bringing in a verdict of Accidental Death.

 

That night Kate and Mallory sat companiably together in their big four-poster drinking real hot chocolate – dark squares of Valrhona melted in water and whipped up with cream.

Kate said, “What are we going to do?”

“God knows. I give up.”

“Mal…”

“What do you expect me to say? She's immovable.”

“There must be something.”

“There's nothing. You heard Cornwell's opinion.”

“But where has it all come from?”

“She's had an absolutely appalling experience.” The green fuse, its contents squeezed out into a grey and white and scarlet puddle seared his memory. “A terrible shock. And it's left her very…unbalanced.”

It had taken them ten minutes to get Benny out of the coroner's court and ten more to persuade her into the car. The moment the verdict had been announced she had got to her feet, pushed her way to the coroner's table and begun to harangue him with great urgency. Her face was flushed and angry and there was lightning in her eyes.

“You have made a terrible mistake. Dennis's death was not an accident. He was deliberately killed.”

Immediately Kate clambered out of her seat. Attempting comfort, she took Benny's arm but was shaken off.

“It's not too late to change your mind,” cried Benny.

“The verdict was justly arrived at—”

“Justice! I'm telling you the truth. Why are you believing everyone else?”

The ushers were trying to clear the room with little success. At last people had got what they came for and they were not going quietly. Some were even sitting down again.

Mallory said, “Stop shouting, Ben, please.”

“He won't listen.” She was struggling for breath.

“Let's find somewhere to talk about this on our own.”

“Then it'll be too late.”

“Not at all.” The coroner's voice was low and insincerely serene. He sounded like an undertaker. “Inquests can always be reconvened should any reasonable doubt arise.” He caught Mallory's eye, making it clear what he thought of the chances in this case while also blaming him for introducing a rogue element into the court. He nodded his head in the direction of the ushers and one of them moved firmly forward.

“You see?” said Kate, gently persuading Benny away from the table. “We can always come back.”

“Can we, Kate?” urged Benny. “Can we
really and truly
?”

In no time at all Kate was sorry she had said that. In the car Benny started asking how soon coming back could possibly be arranged. And what had to be done to bring about this happy state of affairs. How quickly could they start? Where did they start? What could she, personally, contribute? What was the legal situation? Should they have a solicitor? Would any solicitor do or must they engage a specialist in criminal law? Should they perhaps use Dennis's own solicitor?

After two or three hours of this Kate felt she wanted to run and hide. She kept going to the lavatory just to shut the sound out. At one point she pretended to go to the Spar and took a book and hid in the orchard, only to find, coming back, that Mallory had become worried and gone all over the village looking for her. At least they then had a short break. Left alone, Benny had returned to her flat.

In despair Mallory had rung Jimmy Cornwell and the doctor promised to make yet another visit to Appleby House on his way home from afternoon surgery. Prepared to comfort and tranquillise a grief-stricken woman suffering from post-traumatic stress, his expectations were immediately confounded. He found himself confronting blazing determination and a barrage of accusing questions.

How was it he had not grasped the real situation at the time of Dennis's death? Did he understand that his evidence helped to bring in a shamefully wrong verdict? A re-examination was urgent. There was no time to be lost. Could a police doctor be used next time – someone more experienced in matters of unnatural death?

“She's thrown her tablets from the hospital away,” said Mallory, walking Cornwell to his car. “Says she can't afford to be only half awake when there's so much work to be done.”

“Oh dear.”

“We simply can't get through.”

“You won't. Obsessives don't respond to reason. Or common sense.”

“So – what happens now?”

“I can arrange for some counselling. Bit of a wait on the NHS—”

“We'll pay, of course.”

“But as things are at present I doubt if she'd agree.”

“You don't think she'll just…give up?”

“From Benny's point of view there's nothing to give up. It's everyone else who's wrong.” Cornwell got into his car. “I've left another prescription with Kate. You might be able to slip her something by stealth.”

“I hate that idea.”

“Sorry, but that's about it.”

Now, recalled to a miserable present, Mallory put his empty chocolate mug down and knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Through the window moonshine poured, washing the walls and furniture with pale light. All this tranquillity, which should have been soothing, seemed somehow an affront, totally inappropriate to the turmoil that was presently containing them all. He could see Benny's flat through the window. All the lights were on. Mallory checked his luminous clock. Half-past two.

Kate, heavy against his chest, had drifted off. He couldn't move without disturbing her. So he sat on, worrying about Benny, worrying about Polly, worrying about moving house, worrying about the new business. He remembered the day, now seemingly years ago, when he and Kate and Polly had sat in the offices of Brinkley and Latham for the reading of his aunt's will. How excited and happy they had all been.

Dennis too, for entirely selfless reasons. Mallory remembered how spontaneously he had offered to help. How thrilled he was by the very idea of the Celandine Press. Mallory's thoughts slid even further back. He recalled times when he was quite young and Dennis had come to his aunt's house. And how he, Mallory, was always politely included in any non-business conversations. Mostly, of course, he wasn't interested and ran off to play. But he never forgot the kindness, the serious attention paid by Dennis when he did attempt to join in.