Requiem for a Mezzo (10 page)
Read Requiem for a Mezzo Online
Authors: Carola Dunn
“Which makes it still more unlikely that she'd wreck his concert.” He reached across to pat her hand as her face fell. “But you could be right about her mistaking the object of her husband's affections, and jealousy might outweigh the desire for honours. It'll have to be investigated. Now what's this Cochran said about Gower's fading career?”
“He said Gower promised Bettina to land her a rôle at Covent Garden, but he couldn't possibly do so since he has no influence with the management. If they had found out about his promise, it would have put paid to his career because he's already on the way out. Cochran thought Gower had managed to string Bettina along so far, but it was only a matter of time before she went to Covent Garden to find out what was going on.”
“So Cochran's pointing at Gower. Daisy, why on earth do these people tell you these things?”
“In this case, because they want the police to know but they can't quite bring themselves to sneak on each other directly to you. I didn't ask leading questions, honestly. All I did was sit there looking interested and it all came pouring out. Eric
Cochran led up to Gower's fading career by way of sympathy for Roger Abernathy, whose career he reckons is finished. He talked about conducting a benefit concert for himâit sounds charitable but I'm sure he was just thinking of the publicity.”
Cochran led up to Gower's fading career by way of sympathy for Roger Abernathy, whose career he reckons is finished. He talked about conducting a benefit concert for himâit sounds charitable but I'm sure he was just thinking of the publicity.”
“Whoa!” Alec grinned. “He'll be having you up for defamation of character. Why should Abernathy's career be over? His heart? Or because people don't want to associate with a man whose wife was murdered?”
“No, because his eyesight is so bad he can't read music any longer, apparently, and the shock of losing Bettina will make him give up the struggle. Alec, he told me himself he wanted to die when Bettina dropped dead. It was simply frightful.”
“Poor chap.”
“I suppose he's still on your list, though.”
“It's my job to suspect everyone, you know that. Hasn't anyone tried to implicate Muriel Westlea?”
Daisy hesitated, fidgeted with her empty coffee cup. “Actually, Mrs. Cochran said if it was a murder, which of course it wasn't, then Muriel must have done it because Bettina left her everything she possessed.”
Alec studied her face. She failed to meet his eyes. Was she ashamed for having tried to keep that from him, or was she still hiding something? Surely she knew he'd find out about Bettina's will from her solicitorâas in fact he already had that morning. No, the will was a sop to Cerberus, to stop him questioning her further about Muriel.
Daisy wouldn't withhold facts from him. Hearsay or her own speculations she was more than capable of keeping to herself if she feared they might damage a friend in whose innocence she believed.
“And that just leaves Mr. Finch,” she said brightly, “who didn't say a word to me. I don't think there's much room in his head for anything but music.”
“None,” said Alec, whose questions had somehow led to a
learned disquisition on the differences between playing the organ as a solo instrument or as an accompaniment. “That's everyone from the choir room,” he agreed, “but surely you talked to Abernathy, Miss Westlea, and Levich last night or this morning?”
learned disquisition on the differences between playing the organ as a solo instrument or as an accompaniment. “That's everyone from the choir room,” he agreed, “but surely you talked to Abernathy, Miss Westlea, and Levich last night or this morning?”
Before she could answer, the waitress brought the bill. Alec paid and helped Daisy on with her coat, and they set off back to the house. Taking out his pipe, he filled and lit it, and smoked as they walked.
The shops in the King's Road had reopened after the lunch hour; the pavement was thronged with housewives, baskets or string-bags over their arms, children in tow or running ahead. Whistling errand-boys on bicycles whizzed past, dodging horse-drawn drays and motor-vans. Daisy waited until they turned down a quiet side street before she responded, elliptically, to Alec's question.
“Muriel, Mr. Abernathy, and Mr. Levich aren't the sort of people to pass on gossip or make wild accusations.”
“Perhaps not, but you can't have sat in silence the whole time, and I can't believe that with the lady of the house newly murdered, you indulged in nothing but idle chatter.”
“Well, no.” Daisy sighed. “In fact, I'd better warn you: Muriel says her parents didn't know about Bettina's lovers, so will you try not to disillusion them?”
“I'll try; no promises. Miss Westlea knew, obviously. What about Abernathy?”
“He knew. He said so, and so did Muriel. I don't think Bettina ever made any effort to keep her unfaithfulness from him. He was resigned, like Mrs. Gower, only it didn't seem to me there was any bitterness in his resignation. He pretty much expected it when he married her, being so much older. Dull and homely and not even rich, he saidâit was so sad, Alecâand she was young and beautiful and talented.”
“Why on earth did she marry him?”
“To escape from home and develop her talent. Her parents wouldn't let her leave if she wasn't married. Abernathy offered marriage and voice lessons, so she accepted him. Even then, she made no secret of it. He knew what she was and loved her anyway.”
“That all ties in pretty well with what her maid told Tom,” Alec said. “On the face of it, he has no motive for killing her now rather than any time in the past ten years. The same goes for her sisterâMrs. Cochran was right, incidentally. I saw the solicitor this morning: Bettina left Muriel everything and she hadn't changed the will in years. Odd, really, that she made one at all at her age and without vast riches to consider.”
“It's not much?”
“Not enough to live on. A nice nest-egg. I expect Bettina felt Muriel was more in need of it than her husband.”
“Mrs. Cochran suggested she tried to use it to keep Muriel under her thumb,” Daisy admitted grudgingly.
“She seems to have succeeded. The maid said Bettina treated her sister as an unpaid housekeeper and general dogsbody.”
“Muriel didn't put up with it because of the will! She'd promised her parents to look after Bettina and she's the sort of person who keeps promises. And honours her father and mother, which I'm not at all sure they deserve,” she added, her tone severe.
Alec grinned. “Be that as it may, as I was about to say, having put up with that treatment for years, why should the worm turn now? And as I was about to answer myself, in two words, Yakov Levich. Come on, Daisy, what haven't you told me about those two? I saw them together with my own eyes at the Albert Hall last night, and then there he is again this morning.”
“He's a friend, of both Muriel and Abernathy, and he came to see what he could do to help,” she insisted. Then under his
sceptical gaze she conceded, “Well, if you must know, I scent the beginning of a romance. But only the beginning, mind. There wasn't anything serious between them before last night. Certainly Levich couldn't have counted on profiting by Muriel's inheritance.”
sceptical gaze she conceded, “Well, if you must know, I scent the beginning of a romance. But only the beginning, mind. There wasn't anything serious between them before last night. Certainly Levich couldn't have counted on profiting by Muriel's inheritance.”
“Perhaps not,” Alec said grimly, “but what I ask myself is, why the sudden blossoming after Bettina's death? Is it simply that Levich now does hope to profit? Or did Muriel hope her inheritance would help friendship to ripen into something warmer? Or was Bettina so anxious to keep her unpaid housekeeper that she blighted her sister's romance? Possible motives galore; meansâLucy's unlocked darkroom next door; opportunityâyour Miss Westlea poured the fatal drink.”
“No one else's fingerprints on the decanter?”
“We haven't taken anyone's yet, it's one of the things that has to be done today. But there's only one person's prints, presumably hers, a clear set on top and several blurred underneath. Which means no one wiped the decanter before she handled it for the last time.”
“The murderer probably used gloves, or a handkerchief. Everyone knows about fingerprints these days.”
“You'd be surprised how many don't know, or forget in the heat of the moment. But then, if criminals never made mistakes, we'd never catch any of them. We've considered gloves or a handkerchief, of course, though either would risk drawing attention if someone else came up.”
“With a handkerchief, you could pretend to be blotting up something you had spilled.”
“True, and ingenious. I hope you're not going to take to crime. Tom and I hadn't got any further than pretending to blow our noses.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, then turned serious again. “Who took the glass from the soloists' room to the stage?”
“Another good point. It was an elderly usher of unblemished
reputation who had never in his life exchanged a word with Bettina. Tom saw him this morning. No, I'm sorry, Daisy, the fingerprints aren't proof positiveâwe haven't been able to get away with that since Dr. John Thorndyke and
The Red Thumb Mark
âbut Muriel Westlea has to be placed at or near the top of my list.”
reputation who had never in his life exchanged a word with Bettina. Tom saw him this morning. No, I'm sorry, Daisy, the fingerprints aren't proof positiveâwe haven't been able to get away with that since Dr. John Thorndyke and
The Red Thumb Mark
âbut Muriel Westlea has to be placed at or near the top of my list.”
A
s Daisy and Alec turned into the alley, she was feeling decidedly pipped. Alec had wormed out of her the romance between Muriel and Levich which she hadn't meant to reveal. Worse, he'd guessed that Bettina had tried to spoil things between the two, and Marchenko would surely confirm it now that he could no longer claim not to speak English.
s Daisy and Alec turned into the alley, she was feeling decidedly pipped. Alec had wormed out of her the romance between Muriel and Levich which she hadn't meant to reveal. Worse, he'd guessed that Bettina had tried to spoil things between the two, and Marchenko would surely confirm it now that he could no longer claim not to speak English.
Muriel hadn't killed her sister, Daisy was certain. She simply wasn't capable of it, even though she had stopped loving Bettinaâat least Daisy had managed to keep that confession from Alec.
She stopped at the back door to Abernathy's music room.
“Here's the key,” said Alec. “You go on in. I just want to see if Tom's still next door.”
Daisy took the key but followed him, stopping beside him as he paused to knock the dottle from his pipe. The door of the studio stood open. Through it floated Lucy's high, clear, irate voice.
“It's bad enough you should lock me out of my own premises and make a filthy mess in there with your beastly powder, which will take me
hours
to clean up. But this is really too much!”
hours
to clean up. But this is really too much!”
Sergeant Tring's soothing rumble: “It won't take but a minute, miss.”
Alec stepped in. “Miss Fotheringay, I'm Alec Fletcher. Is there some difficulty?”
At his heels, Daisy saw Lucy look him up and down as she said coolly, “Kindly call off your minion, Chief Inspector. I shan't ⦠Daisy, did you really give this man permission to ransack my darkroom?”
“Yes, darling. No need to get hot under the collar. After all, he's hot on the trail of a murderer. Well, not to ransack, but to check for dabs.”
“Dabs!” Lucy exclaimed in disgust.
“What's up, Sergeant?” Alec asked.
“I've dusted for dabs, sir, and I must say there's not many, considering.”
“I use rubber gloves to handle chemicals.” Irritable yet complacent, Lucy spread her perfect, unstained hands with polished nails. “I've no intention of messing up my fingers with your ink.”
“It comes off easy, miss. You see, sir, there's at least two different lots of prints and I need Miss Fotheringay's for elimination purposes.”
“Most of the others are probably mine,” Daisy interrupted. “Do say you'll take my fingerprints, Sergeant Tring.”
“It'd be an honour and a pleasure, miss,” said the sergeant solemnly, his little brown eyes twinkling at her.
While he inked her fingers one by one on his pad and took impressions on a shiny-surfaced white card, Alec drew Lucy aside. Daisy stretched her ears but Tom Tring talked as he worked and she couldn't make out the others' words. Not that she didn't know perfectly well what was being said. Lucy looked haughty, then furious, then sulky, then alarmed.
“Ta, miss, that's it,” said Tring at last. “Soap and water should get it off in a trice.”
“I'll wash in the darkroom.”
Crossing the room, she heard Alec say, “I don't want to give the impression that the cyanide which poisoned Mrs. Abernathy was definitely yours. It's just a possibility. A strong possibility,” he added as relief lightened Lucy's alarm.
“I'll get rid of the blasted stuff,” Lucy snapped. “I practically always use hypo anyway.”
“Other dangerous chemicals are used in your business, Miss Fotheringay. Silver nitrate, for one, can be deadly.”
“Oh, all right,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “I'll try to be more careful about locking up.”
“Thank you, you ease my mind,” Alec said dryly. “I hope you're now ready ⦠.”
With the water running, Daisy didn't catch the rest of his sentence, but the explosive reply sounded distinctly negative.
She stuck her head back round the door. “Don't be an ass, Lucy,” she said. “The ink comes off, and if you don't show Alec the appointment book, I'll pinch it and make a list myself.”
Stiff with annoyance, Lucy stalked over to the desk and presented her hand to Tom Tring. She was even more annoyed when she was kept waiting while Alec took his sergeant aside for a quiet word. Then Daisy and Alec left them together.
“I haven't endeared myself to your friend,” Alec said regretfully as they returned to the house next door.
“It's not quite the first meeting I'd have chosen for you, but never mind. Lucy will come round.” She unlocked the music-room door. “It's a bit
outré
sneaking into someone else's house the back way like this.”
outré
sneaking into someone else's house the back way like this.”
“It was Abernathy's idea. He seemed much recovered. Would you say he's well enough to answer questions without a doctor present?”
“Keep an eye on his lips. I've noticed the first sign of trouble is that they turn blue. Like Bettina's,” Daisy added, striving to
banish the horrid image. “Is that why the third doctor wondered whether she was having a heart seizure?”
banish the horrid image. “Is that why the third doctor wondered whether she was having a heart seizure?”
“Probably. I'd forgotten about that.” Alec frownedâa grimace always lent a peculiar significance by his dark, thick eyebrowsâthen shrugged his shoulders. “The post-mortem was done this morning and the pathologist confirmed cyanide poisoning over the 'phone.”
“Dr. Renfrew?” Daisy remembered the impatient, irascible man who had shouted at Detective Constable Piper over the 'phone at Wentwater Court.
“No, he's on holiday. His junior did the autopsy. It didn't seem worth calling in Sir Bernard Spilsbury for such a straightforward case. He revels in complications.”
“Sir Bernard's the Home Office Chief Pathologist, isn't he? I read something about him. Here we are.” She opened the door at the top of the stairs. “Alec, are you going to talk to Bettina's parents? Because if so, please don't forget they don't know about her misbehaviour. Muriel went to a lot of trouble not to disillusion them.”
“I shan't forget. Now, how do we announce ourselves?”
“As I'm staying here, I'll just march into the drawing room and tell them we're back.” Daisy paused with her hand on the brass door-handle. From within came the sound of a harsh, denunciatory diatribe. “Oh, poor Muriel!” she whispered. “I'm so glad you're with me. I never did cope very well with ranting clergymen.”
“I'll protect you,” Alec whispered back with a smile, squeezing her hand. “Courage!”
Picturing a tall, gaunt, severe parson, Daisy was decidedly taken aback when the Reverend Westlea turned out to be small and chubby, with a rubicund face above his dog-collar. However, he stood before the fireplace with his right hand thrust into his coat and his chest puffed out in an unmistakeably Napoleonic pose.
Muriel, drooping before him like a naughty child, jumped up and almost ran to meet Daisy. “Thank heaven you're back,” she murmured. “I'd almost forgotten how frightful ⦠. Mother, Father, this is the Honourable Daisy Dalrymple, and Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher of Scotland Yard.”
Daisy hadn't known Muriel was even aware of her honorary title. She had certainly never mentioned it before, but it seemed to be the right thing to do now, for the Reverend Westlea came forward rubbing his hands and bobbing his head.
“How d'ye do, Miss Dalrymple. I'm delighted to find my daughter has made at least one respectable friend in London.” He gave Alec a frosty nod.
Mrs. Westlea scuttled up behind him. Daisy wasn't surprised she had overlooked the vicar's wife, who was an older version of Muriel, two or three decades more faded and downtrodden.
Once all the polite formulas proper to a bereavement had been uttered, Mr. Westlea addressed to Alec. “I hope you can tell me, Inspector, since my daughter has no idea, when shall we be able to hold the funeral?”
Daisy opened her mouth to correct Alec's title, but he shook his head at her.
“The inquest will be held tomorrow morning, sir,” he said. “I imagine the ⦠er ⦠remains of the deceased will be released for burial at that time, though I can't vouch for the Coroner's actions.”
“Then I shall arrange the funeral service for Wednesday morning.” He turned back to Daisy. “I shall have to apply to you, Miss Dalrymple, for the name of the incumbent of this parish. I have been shocked to find Muriel so neglectful of Elizabeth's spiritual as well as her physical welfare that she is not ⦠.”
“Chief Inspector!” Muriel broke in with an air of desperationâto
Daisy's unspeakable relief as she wasn't at all sure which was their parish church, let alone the vicar's name. “I know you want to talk to me, and to Roger. He's gone up for a rest but I'm at your service. Will the dining room do?”
Daisy's unspeakable relief as she wasn't at all sure which was their parish church, let alone the vicar's name. “I know you want to talk to me, and to Roger. He's gone up for a rest but I'm at your service. Will the dining room do?”
“Perfectly.” If Alec was disconcerted to have his chief suspect practically throw herself into his arms, Daisy saw no sign of it in his expression. “Did Detective Constable Piper arrive during my absence?”
“Yes, a few minutes before you. He went down to the kitchen. I'll ring for Beryl to send him up.” She pressed the bell. “Daisy, you'll come with me, won't you?”
“If you feel in need of support, Muriel,” said her father, “I am quite prepared to accompany you.”
Muriel looked aghast.
“I'd prefer Miss Dalrymple's presence, sir,” Alec intervened, earning glances of burning gratitude from both Daisy and Muriel. “She is acquainted with many of the other people involved in the case.”
“I hardly consider that a recommendation,” the disgruntled vicar said stiffly.
Before he could insist on his right to attend his daughter, Muriel sped out to the hall, in her haste almost catching Alec's heels in the door as he brought up the rear behind Daisy. They settled at the table in the dining room, with Piper in an inconspicuous corner taking notes.
“First, Miss Westlea,” Alec began, “will you confirm that Mrs. Abernathy drank from the decanter during the interval?”
“Oh yes. The first thing she wanted when I joined her in the ladies' dressing-room was a glass of ratafia.”
“And she drank it?”
“She didn't gulp it, as she did when ⦠later. She sipped it, but by the end of the interval she had finished it.”
“Thank you, that's a great help.”
No wonder Alec looked pleased, Daisy thought. Muriel had
eliminated the need to hunt down everyone who arrived late for the concert. She didn't seem to realize she had limited the list of suspects to those in the soloists' room during the interval.
eliminated the need to hunt down everyone who arrived late for the concert. She didn't seem to realize she had limited the list of suspects to those in the soloists' room during the interval.
“Before I went back to the choir room,” she went on, “I refilled the glass and gave it to one of the ushers to put under her chair on the stage. Father says I should have known something was wrong with it, but how could I?” She gazed at Alec pleadingly.
“You couldn't, Miss Westlea ⦠unless you had added the cyanide.”
“I
told
him I couldn't possibly have guessed.” Muriel appeared far more concerned about her father's reproaches than Alec's suspicions. “It looked and smelled just the same as usual. There was no way to tell someone had tampered with it.”
told
him I couldn't possibly have guessed.” Muriel appeared far more concerned about her father's reproaches than Alec's suspicions. “It looked and smelled just the same as usual. There was no way to tell someone had tampered with it.”
“But someone did. Why did you tell me Mrs. Abernathy had no enemies?”
“âEnemies' sounds so very malevolent. Betsy sometimes upset people, but she wasn't the sort of evil person who has enemies.”
“Would you say Eric Cochran was upset when she threatened to tell his wife about his affair with Miss Blaise?”
“She didn't exactly
threaten
him. She said it wasn't right to keep his wife in ignorance, but she didn't see how she'd ever find time to tell her if she had to rehearse for the Verdi
Requiem.
”
threaten
him. She said it wasn't right to keep his wife in ignorance, but she didn't see how she'd ever find time to tell her if she had to rehearse for the Verdi
Requiem.
”
Alec's lips twitched. “I see. Neither Cochran nor Miss Blaise retaliated by suggesting Mrs. Abernathy's affair with Gilbert Gower ought to be disclosed to their respective spouses?”
“They already knew. Betsy never tried to keep her affairs secret from poor Roger, only from our parents.” Muriel threw a nervous glance backwards at the dining-room door. “And the way Mr. Gower carried on with foreign sopranos was notorious.”
“Mrs. Gower knew about the foreign sopranos,” Alec agreed. “Did she know about Mrs. Abernathy?”
“Yes, she actually asked Betsy to leave Gilbert alone. Betsy said she was in a state because he'd taken up with an English mistress who wouldn't go away after a few months.”
Just as Alec had surmised. He flashed Daisy a smug glance as he asked, “Did Mrs. Abernathy comply with Mrs. Gower's request?”
“No, she refused to stop seeing him. In fact, I'm afraid she thought it was very funny because they had already ceased to be lovers. I tried to persuade her to set Mrs. Gower's mind at rest, but ⦠well, Betsy could be rather stubborn, and I didn't quite like to approach Mrs. Gower myself on such a subject.”
“Do you know why Mrs. Abernathy kept meeting Gower when they were no longer lovers?”
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