Died in the Wool (7 page)

‘So Uncle Arthur's suggestion on that same evening that Cliff should play at the dance came at rather a grim moment,' said Ursula.

‘The boy's a damned conceited pup if he's nothing worse,' said Douglas Grace.

‘And he's still here?' said Alleyn. Fabian looked round at him.

‘Oh, yes. They won't have him in the army. He's got something wrong with his eyes, and anyway he's ranked as doing an essential job on the place. The police got the whole story out of Markins, of course,' said Fabian, ‘and for want of a better suspect, concentrated on the boy. I expect he looms large in the files, doesn't he?'

‘He peters out about halfway through.'

‘That's because he's the only member of the household who's got a sort of alibi. We all heard him playing the piano until just before the diamond clip was found, which was at five to nine. When he'd just started, at eight o'clock it was, Markins saw him in the annexe, playing, and he never stopped for longer than half a minute or less. Incidentally, to the best of my belief, that's the last time young Cliff played on the piano in the annexe, or on any other piano, for a matter of that. His mother, who was worried about him, went over to the annexe and persuaded him to return with her to the cottage. There he heard the nine o'clock news bulletin and listened to a programme of classical music.

‘You may think that was a bit thick,' said Fabian. ‘I mean a bit too much in character with the sensitive young plant, but it's what he did. The previous night you must remember he'd had a snorting row with Flossie, and followed it up with a sixteen-mile hike and no sleep. He was physically and emotionally exhausted and dropped off to sleep in his chair. His mother got him to bed and she and his father sat up until after midnight, talking about him. Before she turned in, Mrs Johns looked at young Cliff and found him fathoms deep. Even the detective-sergeant saw that Flossie would have returned by midnight if she'd been alive. Sorry, Ursy dear, I interrupt continually. We are back on the lawn. Cliff is playing Bach on a piano that misses on six notes and Flossie's talking about the party in the shearing-shed. Carry on.'

Ursula and Florence had steered Arthur Rubrick away from Cliff though the piano in the annexe continued to remind them of him. Flossie began to plan her speech on post-war land settlement for soldiers. ‘There'll be no blunders this time,' she declared. ‘The bill we're planning will see to that. A committee of experts.' The phrases drifted out over the darkling garden. ‘Good country, properly stocked…adequate equipment… Soldiers Rehabilitation Fund…I shall speak for twenty minutes before supper…' But from what part of the wool-shed should she speak? Why not from the press itself? There would be a touch of symbolism in that, Flossie cried, taking fire. It would be from the press itself with an improvised platform across the top. She would be a dominant figure there. Perhaps some extra lighting? ‘We must go and look!' she cried, jumping to her feet. That had always been her way with everything. No sooner said than done. She had tremendous driving power and enthusiasm. ‘I'm going to try my voice there—now. Give me my coat, Douglas darling.' Douglas helped her into the diaphanous coat.

It was then that he discovered the loss of the diamond clip.

It had been a silver wedding present from Arthur, one of a pair. Its mate still twinkled on the left lapel of the coat. Flossie announced simply that it must be found, and Douglas organized the search party. ‘You'll see it quite easily,' she told them, ‘by the glitter. I shall walk slowly to the shearing-shed, looking as I go. I want to try my voice. Please don't interrupt me, any of you. I shan't get another chance and I must be in bed before ten. An early start in the morning. Look carefully and mind you don't tread on it. Off you go.'

To Ursula's lot had fallen a long path running down the right-hand side of the tennis lawn between hedges of clipped poplars, dense with summer foliage. This path divided the tennis lawn from a farther lawn which extended from the front along the south side of the house. This also was bordered by a hedged walk where Terence Lynne hunted, and, beyond her again, lay the kitchen gardens, allotted to Fabian. To the left of the tennis lawn Douglas Grace moved parallel with Ursula. Beyond him, Arthur Rubrick explored a lavender path that led off at right angles through a flower garden to a farther fence, beyond which lay a cart track leading to the manager's hut, the bunkhouses and the shearing-shed.

‘No gossiping, now,' said Flossie. ‘Be thorough.'

She turned down the lavender path, moving slowly. Ursula watched her go. The hills beyond her had now darkened to a purple that was almost black and, by the blotting out of nearer forms, Flossie seemed to walk directly into these hills until, reaching the end of the path, she turned to the left and suddenly vanished.

Ursula walked round the top of the tennis court, past the front of the house, to her allotted beat between the two lawns. The path was flanked by scrubby borders of parched annuals amongst which she hunted assiduously. Cliff Johns now played noisily but she was farther away and only heard disjointed passages, strident and angry. She thought it was a polonaise. TUM, te-tum. Te-tum-te-tum-te TUM, te-tum. Tiddlytumtum. She didn't know how he could proclaim himself like that after what had happened. Across the lawn, on her right, Fabian, making for the kitchen garden, whistled sweetly. Between them Terence Lynne hunted along the companion path to Ursula's. The poplar fences completely hid them from each other but every now and then they would call out: ‘Any luck?' ‘Not so far.' It was now almost dark. Ursula had worked her way to the bottom of her beat and turned into the connecting path that ran right along the lower end of the garden. Here she found Terence Lynne. ‘It's no good looking along here,' Terence had said. ‘We didn't come here with Mrs Rubrick. We crossed the lawn to the kitchen garden.' But Ursula reminded her that earlier in the evening while Douglas and Fabian played an after-dinner singles, the girls had come this way with Florence. ‘But I'm sure she had the clip then,' Terence objected. ‘We should have noticed if one was missing. And in any case, I've looked along here. We'd better not be together. You know what she said.' They argued in a desultory way and then Ursula returned to her beat. She saw a light flash beyond the fence on the right side of the tennis lawn and heard Douglas call out, ‘Here's a torch, Uncle Arthur.' It was not long after this that Arthur Rubrick found the clip in a clump of zinnias along the lavender walk.

‘He said the beam from the torch caught it and it sent out sparks of blue light. They shouted, “Got it. We've found it!” and we all met on the tennis lawn. I ran out to a place on the drive where you can see the shearing-shed but there was no light there so we all went indoors.' As they did this the music in the annexe stopped abruptly.

They had trailed rather wearily into the dining-room just as the nine o'clock bulletin was beginning on the radio. Fabian had turned it off. Arthur Rubrick had sat at the table, breathing short, his face more congested than usual. Terence Lynne, without consulting him, poured out a stiff nip of whisky. This instantly reminded Ursula of Cliff's performance on the previous night. Arthur thanked Terence in his breathless voice and pushed the diamond clip across the table to Ursula.

‘I'll just run up with it. Auntie Floss will like to know it's found.'

It struck her that the house was extraordinarily quiet. This impression deepened as she climbed the stairs. She stood for a moment on the top landing, listening. As in all moments of quietude, undercurrents of sound, generally unheard, became disconcertingly audible. The day had been hot and the old wooden house relaxed with stealthy sighs or sudden cracks. Flossie's room was opposite the stairhead. Ursula, stock-still on the landing, listened intently for any movement in the room. There was none. She moved nearer to the door and stooping down could just see the printed legend. Flossie was adamant about obedience to this notice, but Ursula paused while the inane couplet which she couldn't read jigged through her memory:

Auntie Flossie, she confessed, was a formidable snorer. Indeed it was mainly on this score that Uncle Arthur, an uneasy sleeper, had removed to an adjoining room. But on this night no energetic counterpoint of intake and expulsion sounded from behind the closed door. Ursula waited in vain and a small trickle of apprehension dropped down her spine. She stole away to her own room and wrote a little note. ‘It's found. Happy trip, darling. We'll listen to you.' When she came back and slid it under Flossie's door the room beyond was still quite silent.

Ursula returned to the dining-room. She said the light dazzled her eyes after the dark landing. She stood in the doorway and peered at the group round the table, ‘It's odd, isn't it, how, for no particular reason, something you see will stick in your memory? I mean there was no particular significance about my going back to the dining-room. I didn't know then. Terry stood behind Uncle Arthur's chair. Fabian was lighting a cigarette and I remember feeling worried about him—' Ursula paused unaccountably. ‘I thought he'd been overdoing things a bit,' she said. ‘Douglas was sitting on the table with his back towards me. They all turned their heads as I came in. Of course they were just wondering if I'd given her the diamond clip but it seems to me now that they asked me where she was. And, really, I answered as if they had done so. I said, “She's in her room. She's asleep!” '

‘Did it strike you as odd that she'd made no inquiries about the clip?' Alleyn asked.

‘Not very odd. It was her way, to organize things and then leave them, knowing they'd be done. She was rather wonderful like that. She never nagged.'

‘There's no need to nag if you're an efficient dictator,' Fabian pointed out. ‘I'll admit her efficiency.'

‘Masculine jealousy,' said Ursula, without malice, and he grinned and said, ‘Perhaps.'

Ursula waited for a moment and then continued her narrative.

‘We were all rather quiet. I suppose we were tired. We had a drink each and then we parted for the night. We keep early hours on the plateau, Mr Alleyn. Can you face breakfast at a quarter to six?'

‘With gusto.'

‘Good. We all went quietly upstairs and said goodnight in whispers on the landing. My room is at the end of the landing and overlooks the side lawn. Terry's is opposite Auntie Florence's and there's a bathroom next door to her that is opposite Uncle Arthur's dressing-room where he was sleeping. He'd once had a bad attack in the night and Auntie always left the communicating door open so that he could call to her. He remembered afterwards that this door was shut and that he'd opened it a crack and listened, thinking, as I had thought, how still she was. The boys' rooms are down the corridor and the servants' quarters at the back. When I came out in my dressing-gown to go to the bathroom, I met Terry. We could hear Uncle Arthur moving about quietly in his room. I glanced down the corridor and saw Douglas there and, farther along, Fabian in the door of his room. We all had candles, of course. We didn't speak. It seemed to me that we were all listening. We've agreed, since, that we felt not exactly uneasy but not quite comfortable. Restless. I didn't go to sleep for some time, and when I did it was to dream that I was searching in rather terrifying places for the diamond clip. It was somewhere in the wool-shed but I couldn't find it because the party had started and Auntie Florence was making a speech on the edge of a precipice. I was late for an appointment and hunted in that horribly thwarted way one does in nightmares. I wouldn't have bored you with my dream if it hadn't turned into the dark staircase with me feeling on the treads for the brooch. The stairs creaked like they do at night, but I knew somebody was crossing the landing and I was terrified and woke up. The point is,' said Ursula, leaning forward and looking directly at Alleyn, ‘somebody really was crossing the landing.'

The others stirred. Fabian reached over to the wood box and flung a log on the fire. Douglas muttered impatiently. Terence Lynne put down her knitting and folded her elegant hands together in her lap.

‘In what direction?' Alleyn asked.

‘I'm not sure. You know how it is. Dream and waking overlap, and by the time you are really alert the sound that came into your dream and woke you has stopped. I simply know that it was real.'

‘Mrs Duck returning from the party,' said Terence.

‘But it was three o'clock, Terry. I heard the grandfather strike about five minutes later and Duckie says they got back at a quarter to two.'

‘They'd hung about, cackling,' said Douglas.

‘For an hour and a quarter? And, anyway, Duckie would come up the back stair. I don't suppose it amounts to anything, Mr Alleyn, because we know now that— that it hadn't—that it happened away from the house. It must have. But I don't care what any one says,' Ursula said, lifting her chin, ‘somebody was about on the landing at five minutes to three that morning.'

‘And we don't know definitely and positively,' said Fabian, ‘that it wasn't Flossie herself.'

F
ABIAN'S SUGGESTION RAISED
a storm of protest. The two girls and Douglas Grace began at once to combat it. It seemed to Alleyn that they thrust it from them as an idea that shocked and horrified their emotions rather than offended their reason. In the blaze of firelight that sprang from the fresh log he saw Terence Lynne's hands weave together.

She said sharply, ‘That's a beastly thing to suggest, Fabian.'

Alleyn saw Douglas Grace slide his arm along the sofa behind Terence. ‘I agree,' Douglas said. ‘Not only beastly but idiotic. Why in God's name should Flossie stay out until three in the morning, return to her room, go out again and get murdered?'