Death in the dark, p.12
Death in the Dark, page 12
Doctor Farwell has called since I’ve been here, but I haven’t seen him yet. He nearly ran me down in his car as I was coming up the avenue. Helen dined with him and his wife, and he brought her home very late, about three o’clock. Bateman was in his office doing accounts and he let her in. They had a row, and she smacked his face and cut his cheek with one of her rings. He had a bit of sticking plaster on it the next day. She rang him up this morning. I didn’t know who it was at the time, but I heard the number and I looked it up afterwards in the book. Fortunately it’s the old-fashioned kind of telephone, where you call the number instead of dialling. I think she told him not to come while her sister, Rhoda, was here. I hope to find out a little more about him before long.
Judy folded the four pages closely covered with writing and slipped them into an envelope. She was beginning to be very conscious of the disadvantages of working alone, but there had been no alternative. The forces of the law were against her. First the police and then the judge and the jury were satisfied that the murderer of Mr. Fallowes had been found. The evidence against him had been overwhelming, so much so that no other possibilities had been considered. In her heart Judy had very little hope that the judges of the Court of Appeal would reverse the verdict. That could only happen if fresh evidence was put before them, evidence that had not been available at the trial. Such evidence might exist at Sard Manor, but could she obtain it alone? If these people were in collusion to save one of their number from the gallows they would hardly hesitate to silence her by any means that occurred to them if once they discovered that she was there as a spy.
To whom should she send these notes which might be valuable later on? Ben Levy was a good sort but he was in love with her. Judy did not want to take advantage of his feeling for her to drag him into what might prove a very dangerous business. Besides, he was a very busy man. No, not Ben. Auntie Apples? No. There was nothing she could do. Reuben might have helped, but Reuben had gone off with Lil to join a circus abroad under another name. She knew that Reuben, though he had never said so, had very little doubt that his brother was guilty. Only one possible ally remained, and that was Toby Fleming. He was a child, he couldn’t really do anything himself, but—She wrote a hurried postscript.
“DEAR TOBY,
“I’ve no one to help me, and this is a last chance to save David. Will you tell your stepfather all about us and show him these notes I have made?
I am sure from the way you spoke of him that I can trust him, and you said he was high up at Scotland Yard. Yours, J.M.
It only remained to address the bulky envelope to Master Christopher Fleming before she slipped out of bed to put away her writing materials.
She was in the kitchen waiting for Mrs. Lacy to make the coffee for the breakfast trays when the latter told her that she might have that afternoon for her weekly half day.
“Thanks. Suits me.”
“You’ll be catching the bus and going into the town to the Pictures, I expect. I wonder if you could match some wool for me. I want another two ounces for that jumper I’m making for Mattie. They’ve got it at Woolworth’s.”
Mrs. Lacy fussed over the two trays. Brown bread and tomato juice for Helen, dry toast for Mrs. Ramblett. The tray for Oliver went up later, when Mrs. Ramblett was dressed and ready to take it up to him.
Helen slept with her windows open and the blinds up, but her mother always had her curtains closely drawn. She moaned as Judy pulled them back. “Must you? The light hurts my eyes.”
“You wouldn’t be able to see.”
Judy, setting out the bed table, noticed that Mrs. Ramblett looked very ill and that her hands shook so that she could hardly hold her cup.
“Mary, I—I’m far from well. I need my medicine. Will you ring up the doctor and tell him I must have it. Don’t tell Miss Helen. She thinks I ought to be able to wait. The number is G. O. C. 528. Do it as soon as you’ve taken her tray. Don’t let him put you off.”
“Very well, madam.”
She took Helen’s tray to her. The girl was lying with her face to the wall and her bedclothes pulled right up and she ignored Judy’s entrance.
Judy closed the door after her rather carefully and ran down to the hall. The line was clear and presently she heard a man’s voice, curt and authoritative.
“Who is it. What do you want?”
“I am speaking for Mrs. Ramblett, at Sard Manor. She isn’t at all well this morning. She says can you send up her medicine now?”
“I’ve no one to send. I’m coming over this afternoon and I’ll bring it with me.”
“She said I was to tell you she can’t wait. She’s very shaky and queer.”
She heard him mutter something below his breath.
“I didn’t catch what you said, sir.”
“All right. I’ll prepare one dose, if she can send somebody to fetch it during the morning. That’s all I can do.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll tell her.”
Judy went upstairs to deliver her message. She found that Mrs. Ramblett had drunk her coffee, all but half a cup that had been spilt on her satin quilt, but she had not touched her toast. She was crying, tears running down her sallow cheeks and dripping on to her abominably dirty and ragged dressing-jacket. Judy found her a clean handkerchief.
“What did he say?”
“He said he had no one to send this morning, but that he would have a dose made up if you can send someone to fetch it.”
“Oh dear, I can’t ask James or the keepers. There would be such a fuss. And I don’t want to ask Helen.”
“I would go for you, madam,” said Judy, trying not to sound eager. “If I had a bicycle it wouldn’t take long.”
“A bicycle? You could take Helen’s. She hardly ever uses it. You’ll find it in the shed next to the wash-house. The doctor’s house is on the main road just before you get to the town. It’s called Sunnyside. On the left as you go. You can’t mistake it.”
“Am I to go now, before doing any more work?”
“Yes. You may even be back before Helen notices. That would be best.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” promised Judy.
Mrs. Lacy stopped her as she was passing through the kitchen to go to her room.
“Where are you off to?”
Judy explained. “She said I might take Miss Helen’s bicycle. I won’t be long.”
“You’ll catch it from Miss Helen when she hears,” whispered the old woman, “but you’d best go, I suppose.”
Judy pulled on her beret without stopping to look at herself in the glass on her chest of drawers, and hurried into the yard, buttoning up her coat as she went. She had slipped her letter to Toby into one of the patch pockets. The bicycle was rusty, and she had to spend five minutes pumping up the back tyre, but she was off at last. She had rather dreaded meeting Bateman or the head keeper, but there seemed to be nobody about. She went carefully through the drift of fallen leaves in the avenue, but once in the lane that led across the valley to the main road she put on speed.
Sunnyside was a detached villa residence. It had been recently painted, and the front garden was neat and well cared for.
The door was opened by a sandy-haired young woman, who said curtly, “The doctor’s started on his round. Mrs. Ramblett’s medicine? Here it is.” She gave Judy a small packet done up in white paper and labelled, Mrs. Ramblett. One dose to be taken as directed.
Judy took it and went back to her bicycle. She made one stop on her return journey where she had noticed a stile leading into a field with a right of way. She went into the field and, kneeling on the wet grass in the shadow of the hedge, she succeeded in opening the packet without tearing the paper.
It contained, as she had expected, a little white powder. She took the refill out of her powder compact case and shook a very little of Mrs. Ramblett’s medicine into the box. Then she fastened the packet up again and went on her way.
Bowles was at the top of the avenue changing a tyre on the lorry. He stared very hard at her as she passed, but said nothing. She wished him good morning and he replied with a grunt.
She left the bicycle in the shed and reached her room unchallenged. She had posted her letter to Toby in the pillar box at the end of the lane. She was crossing the hall on her way upstairs when Helen came out of the drawing-room.
“Is that you, Mary? Where the hell have you been? The fire went out. I’ve been ringing and ringing.”
“I’ll get wood and paper and relight it, Miss. I’m sorry.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. I’ve been out on an errand for Mrs. Ramblett.”
“An errand. What errand?”
“To fetch her medicine, Miss.”
Helen bit her lip. She looked angry. “Why didn’t you say so at once?”
Judy was tired of fencing. She answered with equal bluntness. “Mrs. Ramblett didn’t want you to know.”
“Did she say so?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t have been to Doctor Farwells and back in the time.”
“I rode your bicycle. Mrs. Ramblett told me to.”
“Damned cheek. Don’t you dare touch my bicycle again.”
“No, Miss.”
Judy went on up the stairs. Helen watched her go. Judy, glancing back as she reached the turn, was suddenly sorry for her. Did she or didn’t she know that the doctor was supplying her mother with dope? Judy thought not. She looked puzzled and unhappy.
Mrs. Ramblett was still in her room, but she was up and dressed.
“You’ve got it!” She almost snatched the packet out of Judy’s hand. “Get on with your work now.”
Judy was thrust out, and she heard the key turn in the lock.
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Judy was off as soon as she had washed the glass and silver after lunch. Mrs. Lacy told her that she might stay out until ten. “That’s if you don’t mind walking a mile in the dark after you get out of the bus. Don’t forget my wool.”
Judy had laid her plans. She had several purchases to make.
She was going to miss the doctor again, but that could not be helped. She hurried along the lane and was just in time to catch the bus into the town that passed there every hour. She went first to the post office where she sent off a small parcel. After that she did some shopping in the High Street. She bought a ball of fine twine and a bow and arrows at a toy shop, and then at an oil and colour shop she got sixty feet of fine but strong cord. It made rather a large parcel, and the assistant who served her offered to send it, but she preferred to take it with her.
She was in a grocer’s shop and waiting to be served when her attention was attracted to the lady standing next to her by the owner of the shop, a fussy little man, who came forward to speak to her.
“Mrs. Farwell, isn’t it? We haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you in the shop lately.”
She answered in a low voice, “I haven’t been well. Your man calls for orders.”
“Certainly, certainly, I hope you are satisfied.”
“Oh, quite.” She glanced round at the shop in a flurried manner before she said, “I—I want a tin of mustard. I’ll take it with me.”
“Very good, madam. Shall I put it down?”
“Oh no. I’ll pay for it now.”
She fumbled agitatedly over the coppers in her purse.
The little grocer looked on with unconcealed surprise and concern.
“You’re hardly fit to be out alone, ma’am. Perhaps you’ve walked a bit farther than you meant. I believe I saw Doctor Farwell’s car standing a little farther down the street half an hour ago. Shall I send one of my lads to see if he can find him?”
“Oh no, please. I’m quite all right really. Good afternoon and please don’t—I mean—”
If her manner had not been so strange Judy would hardly have noticed her. She was one of those thin, neutral-coloured women who are apt to remind unsympathetic observers of chewed string. Her features were good, she might have been a pretty girl once, but the freshness of youth had faded and there had been nothing to replace that evanescent charm.
The grocer turned to Judy. “What can I do for you?”
“A quarter of acid drops, please.”
CHAPTER XII
JUDY TAKES A CHANCE
“A pot of tea, Miss, and a poached egg on toast.”
Judy arranged her parcels on the chair beside her. She had got all she wanted and meant to spend the rest of the evening in the cinema across the road. Meanwhile she was pondering over the odd little incident of Mrs. Farwell and the tin of mustard. It was queer, thought Judy, however you looked at it. Ill, perhaps. But it looked more like sheer fright. Those gloved fingers fumbling over the purse, the fluttering, breathless voice. “Oh, no, I’m all right.”
She had not always been like that, thought Judy, or the grocer would not have been so surprised. What was Mrs. Farwell afraid of? She did not live at Sard Manor, where the wolves woke you in the night and you heard the boards creaking, if you listened long enough, under what might be a stealthy footstep.
Judy finished her tea and went over to the cinema, where she slept through two pictures and a newsreel and woke when the lights were turned on just in time to hurry out and scramble into the last bus.
The only other passenger got out on the outskirts of the town and she was left alone with the friendly bus conductor.
“I remember you taking this trip last week,” he said, “going to Sard Manor. How do you like the place?”
“It’s all right so far.”
“You’ve got stronger nerves than my sister-in-law then. Been doing a bit of shopping?”
“Yes.”
He eyed her parcels curiously. She was worried about them herself.
If only she could get them to her room unnoticed, the bow and arrows could be hidden under her mattress and the cord could be locked up in her suitcase.
He stopped the bus at the turning to Sard Manor and helped her down.
“Gosh, that’s a heavy lump to carry. You’re not afraid to go up that lane in the dark? Good night!”
The bus rumbled away down the road and its lights vanished round the next corner. Judy looked after it wistfully. She hated going back to Sard Manor. Only the thought of David, sitting in his warm, bright, dreadful cell, playing draughts with a warder; David, who would never be alone now until he died, nerved her to it. She trudged on until the black bulk of the house loomed up before her in the dim starlight. Ten o’clock, but only one light in the kitchen window. Mattie had gone to bed but Mrs. Lacy was sitting up for her with a pack of greasy cards spread out on the table.
Luckily she was absorbed and did not look up as Judy passed behind her. “Going straight to bed? Take your things off and come back for a cup of cocoa.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Judy disposed of her burdens and returned to the kitchen.
“Ought I to go to the drawing-room?”
“No. The doctor rang up. He was kept by a case and couldn’t come after all, so Mrs. Ramblett and Miss Helen have both gone to bed early. I saw that the lights were all out and looked to the fastenings myself. The cocoa’s in the saucepan and you’ll find some biscuits in the tin.”
“Are you doing a Patience?”
“No. I tried one, but it wouldn’t come out. Miss Helen came in and bothered me to tell her fortune. I didn’t want to, but she made me. I didn’t tell her all I saw, but even then she wasn’t pleased. I can’t help the way the cards come out. The king of spades over and over again—and the ace.”
“Is that bad?”
“Yes. She said it was all damned nonsense and I ought to be burned for a witch,” Mrs. Lacy droned on. ‘All right, Miss Helen,’ I said, ‘but there it is, and swearing won’t alter it.’”
Judy stirred her cocoa thoughtfully. “What about Mr. Oliver when the doctor doesn’t come?”
“That’s what Mrs. Ramblett said. ‘He won’t sleep without his drops,’ she said. That’s when I took up her hot water. She talks to me sometimes when she’s in the mood. I said ‘What’s the matter with him really?’ She began to cry. ‘He’s very ill Mrs. Lacy,’ she said, ‘and I wish I was dead.’”
She collected the cards and pushed them into the table drawer. “If it wasn’t for Mattie, I wouldn’t stay,” she said. “I couldn’t have her with me anywhere else, and I promised my poor sister—well, good night, Mary.”
Judy went to her room. She was still undecided. The plan she had evolved depended for its success on the fact that she was a trained acrobat. She had had a tiring day and it might be better to delay the enterprise for another twenty-four hours. But she wanted to get it over. She was going to take far greater risks than she had ever run with her brothers high up in the roof of the big circus tent. Quite unconsciously as she sat on the end of her bed she was rubbing her feet on the floor as she had rubbed them so often in the chalk before running into the ring. No lights to-night, no music, no applause, no net to catch her if she fell. Not yet, of course. She must wait until midnight. Meanwhile she could make all ready. She undid her parcels and fastened an end of string to one of the arrows. She changed into her practice clothes, canvas shoes and a dark bathing suit, and slipped on her tweed coat for warmth over a woollen cardigan which she wore for the sake of the pockets.
She had only a few inches of candle left. She blew it out to save it. “I won’t sleep,” she thought, but after a while she dozed off, waking with a start and the fear that it was too late. She switched on her torch and looked at her watch and was reassured, it was only twenty past twelve.
Half an hour later she had to admit that she had underrated the difficulties she had to overcome. Again and again the arrow carrying the string had fallen back. She had climbed easily enough to the fork of a beech tree growing close up to the house, but, seated there astride with her back to the trunk hampered her in drawing the bow. In the daylight she might have succeeded, but the darkness made it impossible for her to take aim. At last the arrow and the string were hopelessly fouled among the upper branches of the tree. She tugged desperately but uselessly, her plan, which had been to get the string and then the cord round one of the chimney stacks had to be abandoned. The only other way to reach the roof was to climb up by the rain water pipe. She had gone round the outside of the house the previous day on the pretext of cleaning the windows, and she knew there were pipes at each comer to carry off the water that ran off the roof. She chose the south-east corner and began to climb. She had fastened the cord round her waist. If she succeeded in scrambling on to the roof the cord fastened with a slip knot round one of the chimney stacks would solve all her difficulties. Fortunately Sard Manor was an old house and everything about it was solid and made to last. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but the dim projection of a windowsill showed Judy that she had reached the first floor. The rooms on this side of the house were unoccupied. Mrs. Ramblett and Helen’s rooms were some distance away, luckily, for Judy’s progress was far from noiseless as the pipe creaked under the strain of her weight, and once a bird roosting in the ivy flew out with a loud squawk and startled her so that she nearly lost her grip.
