Death and the Maiden (18 page)

‘Yes, but Miss Carmody altered those plans by inviting Kitty to accompany her to Andover on the bus.'

‘Andover? Why Andover?'

‘Miss Carmody pointed out that there was charming scenery along the bus route, which happens to be true, and that Andover is a typical Hampshire country town and well
worth visiting,' said Mrs Bradley, with no expression in her tone.

‘I see,' said Alice, registering the idea that Mrs Bradley believed Miss Carmody to be not less villainous than the Tidsons.

‘Do you?' Mrs Bradley looked interested and felt slightly amused, for Alice's mental processes were artless.

‘I mean,' said Alice, with her usual gravity, ‘that I see – at least, I think I see – why Kitty had to go with her. One thing, she couldn't have had anything to do with it, either – Miss Carmody, I mean.
You
know – the body at the weir.'

‘But why
should
she have had anything to do with it? I repeat that we do not know who the boy was, or how he met his death. He may have stumbled on the brickwork you have described, and fallen on to his head, and his companions may have hidden the body, afraid of being blamed for the death. Such cases, although uncommon, have been known. But do boys of that age usually fall on their heads from a height of six feet, you will ask – and I don't know the answer. Even if he were pushed—'

‘Yes,' said Alice. ‘It's difficult. His leg was broken, you know, as I said before.'

‘So you did. Ah, well, no doubt the inquest will tell us more about it, and perhaps whether the signalman was the first person to see the body. Was Mr Tidson wearing a hat?'

‘No, he wasn't. Does he usually wear a hat, then?'

‘Well, he used to, and thereby, we think, may hang a tale. If you see him in a hat you might let me know. Our next task, as I see it, is to find out where he went and what he did. His behaviour may or may not have been suspicious. We cannot tell in the present state of our knowledge.'

‘No,' said Alice, who felt (although incorrectly) that she was being blamed. ‘I'm awfully sorry I lost track, but I did lose all trace of him so completely that I think he must have known he was being followed, and I think he dodged me deliberately, which doesn't really look too good.'

‘The majority of people resent being followed, child, and most of them are nervous about it, I believe. I'll tell you
what. You and I must take an early morning walk, and see whether we can find out where he went. Would you care to come with me? – If so, when?'

‘First thing to-morrow, I should think,' said Alice, gaining heart again in the undertaking.

‘To-morrow? Right. I wonder when Laura will get back, and with what tidings?' said Mrs Bradley. ‘Something very strange must have happened for Connie to have run off like that. I think I can guess what it was, but time will show. And now this boy . . . I wonder how long he has been dead?'

Chapter Eleven

‘On my word, Master, this is a gallant
Trout,
what shall we do with him?'

S
IR
I
ZAAK
W
ALTON
(
The Compleat Angler
)

 

L
AURA
returned at six next day with a very unwilling Connie. They had read in the early editions of the evening paper of the discovery of the body at the weir. Mrs Bradley had been on the telephone to Scotland Yard, the Tidsons were in their room, and the only person to see the two girls arrive was Thomas, who met them in the vestibule.

‘Where's everybody, Thomas?' enquired Laura.

Thomas gave her a brief theory of his own:

‘I'll be thinking they are all getting through the time, Miss Menzies; just getting through the time, as ye might say.'

‘That's his delicate way of saying they're all in a queue for the bathrooms, I suppose,' said Laura. ‘Come on. We'd better follow suit. There isn't too much time if you're going to unpack as well.'

‘I'm not going to unpack. I'm not going to stay,' said Connie. ‘I can't spend another night here. It isn't safe. I keep telling you. Why won't you believe me?'

‘Bless you, duck, I believe every syllable you utter. But you don't avoid peril by running away and being followed. Face it, and have it out, that's my idea. Besides, Mrs Croc. will want to talk to you.'

‘Who?'

‘Mrs Bradley. So come on up, and I'll find out whether she can see us.' She collared the reluctant Connie and bundled her up the stairs.

Mrs Bradley invited them in. She was combing her hair, and saw them first in the mirror.

‘Ah,' she said, turning round. ‘Chiswick?'

‘Not quite. That Brown address on the Great West Road,' said Laura. ‘She says – here,
you
go on,' she added, turning to Connie. Connie gave way before two pairs of anxious eyes.

‘We let it,' said Connie. ‘The flat, I mean. My aunt does. The name of the tenant is Brown, but he's in Manchester part of the time. He's in Manchester now, and I knew I could hide in the flat until he came back. That's why I went. I knew he wouldn't mind, and when he comes back—'

‘Nonsense!' said Mrs Bradley. ‘Don't tell me lies. There is no tenant named Brown. Whose
is
the flat?'

‘It belongs to Uncle Edris, I think,' said Connie. ‘He wrote the letter about the naiad from there. I thought I could hide there for the time. I knew he'd be staying on here, and I begin my new job next month, and then I—'

‘Where did you spend last night?' asked Mrs Bradley. ‘And what made you leave this place so late at night?'

Connie looked frightened and did not answer.

‘Ah,' said Mrs Bradley. ‘Well, never mind. We shall find these things out in good time. How long did you propose to remain in Chiswick?'

‘Hardly any time,' said Connie quickly. ‘I've been asked to live in at my job. I – if it weren't for Uncle Edris I should have lived in the West End in a mews.'

‘Expensive, in these days, surely?'

‘I was going to share with three friends.'

‘A commodious sort of mews,' said Laura, grinning. ‘How many rooms? – Oh, sorry! Not my cue.'

‘Well, that explains all that,' said Mrs Bradley, speaking, her acute and intelligent secretary thought, in some haste. ‘Laura, go off and get ready for dinner. Now, child,' she added kindly to Connie when Laura had gone, ‘suppose you sit down in that armchair whilst I finish my hair, and explain to me why you ran away.'

‘I was afraid of the Tidsons,' said Connie with simplicity.

‘Both of them?'

‘Yes. They pumped me about my parents. I didn't like it.'

‘What did they want to know?'

‘The usual things. Whether my father had been rich, and who my mother's people were, and whether I was related to auntie's nephew Arthur, and how long I had been living with auntie, and whether she had adopted me legally – that sort of thing. I thought it was beastly cheek. It certainly was no concern of theirs.'

‘I can see why it annoyed, but not why it frightened you, child.'

‘Perhaps I've been silly over that, but, ever since the ghost, I've felt them conspiring against me. Oh, I know you're a psychiatrist, and that you've got all sort of weird names for people who think they're being followed and persecuted and all that, but it isn't my being crazy, honestly it isn't! They're dead against me, I know they are! And they're sponging on poor Aunt Prissie all the time! They're beasts! I hate and loathe them!
I
had Aunt Prissie first, and I mean to keep her, and I'm not going to stay any longer to play second fiddle to Crete Tidson, so nobody need expect it!'

‘I shouldn't think anybody does expect it, though,' said Mrs Bradley, her voice dropping like honey after this wild oration. Connie sat humped in the armchair, and stared miserably and resentfully out of the window.

‘That's all
you
know!' she rather rudely retorted.

‘No, it isn't, quite,' said Mrs Bradley. ‘Come and do up these fasteners for me, there's a good child.'

Connie got up and slouched over to where Mrs Bradley was standing. She looked sulky, but, as Mrs Bradley realized with pity, she was almost at the end of her nerves.

‘And now,' said Mrs Bradley, kindly, but with the utmost decision, ‘I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to stay at my house, in the village of Wandles Parva, until you begin your new job. No one can get at you there. Would you like to go there to-night? If so, I will order a car. It is not above twenty miles from here, and no one except Laura Menzies – and I think you'll agree that she can be trusted – knows anything about it or where it is.'

‘Oh, if only I
could
get away! Would there be people there? I mean, I couldn't bear to be alone,' said Connie, whose mind was as much (or as little) confused as this speech suggested.

‘There are my servants, and my chauffeur will be there. You'll like George. A most sturdy fellow. Come downstairs with me, and we'll send for him. That will be very much better than hiring a car.'

‘But I don't want to stay here another minute! I don't want to meet the Tidsons ever again! You don't understand – I could never tell you the things he's said to me!'

‘You shall not meet them again,' said Mrs Bradley. ‘You can wait in here instead of coming downstairs. When the car arrives – we shall all be at dinner, I should think – all you have to do is to answer Laura's knock – three quick raps on your door – and take yourself off as fast as ever you can go. And you'd better not come back without sending me word.'

‘And you'll let Aunt Prissie know? You won't let her worry, will you? You'll let her know I'm safe, but not where I've gone!'

‘I'll reassure her. Don't worry. George will bring the car to the hotel entrance at about a quarter to eight. We never finish dinner before eight, so that should allow you to be well away from here before we come out of the dining-room.'

‘It's decent of you,' said Connie. She hesitated, flushed, and then added, ‘I only wish I could tell you everything, but you wouldn't want to know it, and, anyway, it wouldn't be fair. I've got to sweat it out by myself.'

‘No, you haven't, child. And why wouldn't it be fair?'

‘It's too much responsibility,' said Connie, looking completely miserable. ‘But don't worry! I'll get by all right. I mean to.'

‘You haven't told me the truth about your behaviour, have you?' said Mrs Bradley. Connie looked at her and then answered:

‘No, not quite. But you can always pump Uncle Edris.'

Mrs Bradley laughed, but Connie did not join in this response. After another silence, she said abruptly:

‘I suppose you've never thought of killing a person?'

‘Oh, yes, I have,' Mrs Bradley equably replied. ‘A harmless person?'

‘No – not exactly harmless. Can anyone we have the urge to kill be considered harmless, do you think?'

‘Oh, you couldn't understand how I feel!'

‘Oh, yes, I think I can,' said Mrs Bradley gently. ‘But before I made any definite confessions, I'd think them over if I were you. You might be sorry you'd trusted me, you know. Did you think about finger-prints, I wonder?'

‘Oh, I haven't done anything terrible! Well, not so
very
terrible,' said Connie hastily. She gave a half-glance at Mrs Bradley's face and then broke down. ‘I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to! Truly I didn't mean to! I must have been mad! It was all Uncle Edris! I hate him! You say “Don't confess,” but you want me to confess, and I will! I'll kill him, I'll kill him! I'm going to get rid of him somehow! I won't let him live to kill Arthur!'

‘That's what I'm afraid of,' said Mrs Bradley, looking at her sternly but with compassion. ‘Therefore you'll do as I say.'

‘And suppose I wont'?'