A Nice Class of Corpse (5 page)

She had a good, long soak, continually topping the bath up with more hot water.

And, as she lay there, Mrs Pargeter thought long and deeply about the late Mrs Selsby.

And the still-living Mrs Mendlingham.

CHAPTER 10

An interesting conversation took place after dinner that night between Miss Wardstone and Miss Naismith.

Dinner itself was a formal affair, a kind of static square dance to which, Mrs Pargeter recognised, there were fixed rules. That evening she was content to be an observer, not yet committing herself as to whether she intended to abide by those rules.

All of the residents sat at separate tables, except for Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish who seemed happy to share. There was no ordering; the day's menus had been displayed in the Entrance Hall in the morning and they had all made their choices for the two main meals before eleven o'clock.

Some of the guests drank wine. The Colonel and Mr Dawlish shared a bottle of Cftes du Rhone. A half-empty litre of Italian white with a stick-on label reading 'Miss Vance' was on Eulalie's table when she arrived; from this she filled her glass regularly and took long, sighing draughts. Lady Ridgleigh had in front of her a bottle of Malvern water, though her conversation constantly implied that, but for her doctor's orders, she would be outdoing them all in her discriminating use of the wine list.

Mrs Mendlingham and Miss Wardstone drank ordinary water. The latter did not hide her disapproval of alcoholic indulgence; many sniffs were heard whenever the subject was discussed. She frequently reasserted that she had never touched the beastly stuff and appeared to regard even the intake of food as a regrettably sybaritic necessity.

Mrs Pargeter contented herself that night with a half-bottle of Beaujolais. It complemented Mrs Denyer's excellent steak pie. The cabbage and carrots had also been carefully cooked, avoiding the curse of sogginess, which afflicts most English provincial cuisine.

Mrs Pargeter was pleased. Her life with the late Mr Pargeter had taught her to appreciate good food, and, after two dinners, she felt cautiously optimistic about the standards of the Devereux's kitchen.

The square dance quality of dinner at the Devereux also applied to the conversation, though here the rules were so complex that Mrs Pargeter reckoned it might take her some time to understand them fully.

Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish maintained their customary eliptical sequence of non sequiturs, but they were sitting at the same table. For the ladies, each marooned on her own island, the protocol was less straightforward. Remarks to the entire company were, of course, proscribed, but it was permissible for conversational lines to be cast from one island to the next. These castings were, however, erratic and discontinuous; no conversational flow could be said to have developed.

Mrs Pargeter inwardly decided that something would have to be done to enliven this state of affairs. But, for that evening, she contented herself with almost complete silence.

What did strike her, though, was how little impact Mrs Selsby's death had had. The old lady had slipped beneath the surface, causing scarcely a ripple to the still waters of life at the Devereux. Her image was already indistinct to Mrs Pargeter, and seemed to be fading as fast for those residents who had known her longer. The Television Room was now unoccupied and none of the residents knew of its brief tenancy by a corpse.

As discreetly as the curtains close behind a coffin at a crematorium, a veil had been drawn over Mrs Selsby's death.

Loxton was clearing the sweet plates (apple and blackberry crumble in Mrs Pargeter's case, also excellent) and Newth busying himself with pouring coffee, when Miss Naismith swanned into the room. Basing her conclusion on two evenings at the Devereux, Mrs Pargeter decided that this appearance must be a nightly occurrence.

It was a sort of 'Everything all right?' call on behalf of the management (not of course so vulgar as a chef s appearance from the kitchen, nearer perhaps to a commanding officer's final tour of his encampment). It was an opportunity for any anxieties or complaints to be voiced by the residents.

Miss Naismith's entry also seemed to occupy the role with regard to television that the Loyal Toast does with regard to smoking. No one went into the Television Room before Miss Naismith appeared (though there might have been a little covert watching of portables in the bedrooms during the day).

But she did time her appearance tactfully at seven-twenty-five. This meant that on the relevant nights Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish would not miss any of their favourite programme,
Coronation Street
. (This the two of them, neither of whom had ever in their lives travelled north of Cheltenham, watched with the fascinated bewilderment many people accord to Science Fiction.)

'Good evening,' said Miss Naismith, using her privilege of addressing general remarks on the evening of the 5th of March. 'I do hope that you have all had as pleasant a day as was possible . . . under the circumstances.'

This was as near as her gentility would allow to a mention of Mrs Selsby's death. But she need not have worried about offending any sensibilities; the mumbled chorus of affirmation suggested that none of them could think of any reason why they shouldn't have had a pleasant day.

Miss Naismith granted her new resident a glowing smile. 'I trust you feel that you are settling in, Mrs Pargeter.'

'Yes, thank you, Miss Naismith,' Mrs Pargeter replied dutifully.

'Well, if there aren't any points anyone wishes to raise . . . ?' Miss Naismith inclined her body towards the door.

'There is something.'

Miss Wardstone's voice came out too loud, with the harshness of someone who had never in her life attempted to make herself agreeable.

'Yes, Miss Wardstone?'

'When can I move in?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Mrs Selsby's room is now vacant. It has a sea-front position. It is the room that I quite clearly stated I wanted when I came to the Devereux. You said that I would be put on a waiting list for the room when it next became vacant. That moment has arrived, and I want to move in.'

Miss Naismith's forehead wrinkled with pain at this lapse of etiquette. 'Miss Wardstone, it is not yet twenty-four hours since Mrs Selsby's . . . passing-on.'

'I don't care. I want to get into that room. It's mine now.'

'Yes, but—'

'I tried to get into the room this afternoon, but it was locked,' said Miss Wardstone in a tone of accusation.

'Yes. Of course it is locked at the moment. I thought that was appropriate until Mrs Selsby's relations or solicitor should arrive to take charge of her possessions.'

'You can put them in a box-room or somewhere.'

'No, Miss Wardstone. Mrs Selsby had certain items of considerable value – jewellery in particular. I do have to think of the matter of security. It would be most inappropriate if anything were found to be missing when her possessions came to be claimed.'

'Well, I want to get into that room.' Miss Wardstone's reptilian jaw-line set hard and firm. 'You said I would definitely be the next to go into it.'

Miss Naismith refrigerated another smile. 'I know that, Miss Wardstone. And I can assure you that I have no intention of going back on my word. The changeover will be made, but I do not think that it would be suitable to make it before Mrs Selsby's funeral.'

This was said with such finality that it reduced Miss Wardstone to only a sniff by way of riposte. Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish took advantage of the change of mood to rise and, murmuring 'We hope you will excuse us, ladies', to go off and watch what was left of
Coronation Street
.

Miss Naismith swept out after them.

Mrs Pargeter looked at the expression of fury on Miss Wardstone's face. The spinster did want that sea-front room with an intensity that was almost obsessional.

But enough to kill for it? Of that Mrs Pargeter was not yet sure.

CHAPTER 11

Mrs Pargeter rarely spoke of the late Mr Pargeter, except in the most general terms. It was clear from her conversation that he had been a devoted husband, and also a wealthy one, who had left his widow exceptionally well-protected against the financial buffetings of the world. But, as Lady Ridgleigh had found out, enquiries into the sources of the late Mr Pargeter's wealth were deflected by enigmatic answers.

Mrs Pargeter, however, retained a deep and lasting affection for her late husband. Though his life had been unconventional, though their marriage had been interrupted by his occasional long absences, their love for each other had never faltered.

And Mrs Pargeter had cause to be grateful to him for the many, many useful things that he had taught her.

She thought this once again as, at two-thirty in the morning of the 6th of March, she slipped the relevant blade of the late Mr Pargeter's skeleton keys into the lock of the sea-front room that, until the previous day, had been occupied by Mrs Selsby.

She was acting on intuition. Various ideas were connecting in her mind, but she needed more information to convert those connections into a solid chain of logic.

It was Mrs Selsby's pearls that had put her on the track, and something Miss Naismith had said during the evening that had kept her going in the same direction. In Mrs Selsby's room she hoped to find out whether she was proceeding on the high road to a solution or up a blind alley.

The lock gave and the door opened with the silent deference that characterised all the fittings of the Devereux. Inside the room the curtains were drawn, perhaps as a mark of respect to the deceased, but Mrs Pargeter did not risk switching on the lights. Instead, she produced a small pencil torch, another invaluable legacy of the late Mr Pargeter's working life.

She moved straight to the bureau in the bay window. In the front of the hotel she was much more aware of the insistent wash of the sea.

She wore gloves (another of the useful things the late Mr Pargeter had taught her), and the well-oiled drawers of the bureau slid obligingly open at her touch. No need to use the skeleton keys again.

Mrs Pargeter quickly found what she was looking for. Two drawers were full of slim black jewellery boxes. Screwing into her eye the jeweller's glass that the late Mr Pargeter had also always found so useful, she expertly opened each box and examined its contents in the thin beam of her torch.

As she closed the last box, she smiled with satisfaction. She couldn't be sure about the settings, but every one of the precious stones confirmed her suspicions.

Mrs Pargeter was silent as she left the sea-front room, and silent as she relocked the door with the skeleton key. She moved silently back up to her second-floor back bedroom, was quickly in bed, and quickly asleep.

Which was why she did not hear the sounds of someone else breaking into Mrs Selsby's room later that night.

CHAPTER 12

After breakfast on the morning of the 6th of March, Miss Naismith asked Mrs Mendlingham whether she would mind stepping into the Office for a brief word. The expression in the old woman's wild eyes suggested that she would mind a lot, but she obediently followed the proprietress out of the Admiral's Dining Room.

'I wonder what that was about . . . ?'

Miss Wardstone voiced her conjecture to no one in particular. Apart from her, only Eulalie Vance and Mrs Pargeter remained at their breakfast tables. Colonel Wicksteed had made his morning quip about time and tide, and soon been followed out by Mr Dawlish and Lady Ridgleigh. Mrs Pargeter sat relishing the last of her kipper, and Eulalie Vance stayed ostentatiously rereading a letter that had arrived by the morning post.

'I've no idea,' said Mrs Pargeter, politely picking up the conversational baton.

'A matter of personal hygiene, I wouldn't be surprised.' Miss Wardstone sniffed vindictively, though whether this was an illustration of her words or the product of mere habit was not clear.

'Oh?' asked Mrs Pargeter innocently.

'Come on. You must have smelled it. I'm afraid dear Mrs Mendlingham is beginning rather to . . . lose control.' Miss Wardstone emitted a little bark of unamused laughter and then added grimly, 'I think she may be on the transfer list.'

'Transfer list?'

'Miss Naismith is very insistent that the Devereux is for
active
people. In other words, people who are physically fit and in full control of themselves. I'm not sure that Mrs Mendlingham any longer qualifies.' Again a nasty little laugh.

'And where might she be transferred
to
?'

'The South Coast isn't short of Old People's Homes, Mrs Pargeter. Private hotels like the Devereux are considerably rarer. And Miss Naismith is absolutely right to apply her rules with the maximum stringency.'

Meaning, Mrs Pargeter presumed, that Mrs Mendlingham was being asked to find herself alternative accommodation. That could be a nasty shock for a person of her age, who might be driven to desperate courses to avoid such action being taken against her.

Mrs Pargeter wondered idly whether Mrs Selsby had possessed any firm evidence of Mrs Mendlingham's incontinence or other disqualifications from residency at the Devereux.