Latter End (18 page)

Julia had a brief, exasperating interview with Mrs. Maniple. If she expected to find her at all cast down she was mistaken. Coming back to her own domain to find “that Gladys Marsh” sitting on her kitchen table, Mrs. Maniple had, to use her own expression, “set her to rights.” For all her impudence, Gladys met her match. She retired with impertinence upon her tongue, it is true, but quite in a hurry. Polly, silent and quaking, was set to scrub vegetables in the scullery, the door into the kitchen being then shut so firmly as to suggest a bang.

Julia was received in an extremely lofty manner which put her back again to somewhere about five years old. “Manny, what’s happened?”

“I’m making a cake, Miss Julia.”

“Manny! I mean in the study. Please tell me.” Mrs. Maniple looked over the top of her head. “There’s nothing to tell that I know about. I went in, and I come out. I told them what you made such a point of their being told, and what good it’s going to do them or anyone else, I don’t know. But there it is—you can’t say I’ve kept anything back. And the stout policeman, he said to stay on the premises in case I was wanted. I could have told him it wasn’t any hardship to me, seeing I’m on them all the time, and have been for more than fifty years if it wasn’t for church of a Sunday, and down into the village, and once in a way into Crampton, but I wouldn’t demean myself. I come out, and if the lunch is spoilt it won’t be my fault. And I’ll thank you to let me have my kitchen to myself, Miss Julia.”

It was some time later that she met Jimmy Latter coming in from the garden.

“They want to see me again,” he said.

“The police?”

He nodded.

A sharp fear pricked Julia. They couldn’t be going to arrest him—or could they? In this nightmare world there were no landmarks. It stretched all round them with no way of escape. Any path might dissolve beneath your foot, any bridge might crumble, any word or any action might precipitate disaster. And all the while they were being watched.

Jimmy was saying in a grey, hopeless tone, “I don’t know what they want me for—they’ve asked me everything already.” He went past her with a dragging step.

It was perhaps because Manny had pushed back the years that Julia found herself running out of the house. If they were going to arrest Jimmy, she couldn’t be there, she couldn’t see it. She had to find Antony. It was all quite unreasoning and instinctive.

When the impulse failed she was horribly ashamed of it. It had taken her almost as far as the rose-garden. She stood still and looked around her. It was a lovely morning, the early mist all gone, the air fresh and delicate with the scent of flowers, and a promise of warmth to come. There was not a cloud in the sky. She saw Antony coming towards her and waited for him. Even in the middle of a nightmare Antony was real.

He came up to her, slipped a hand inside her arm, and said,

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know—I’m frightened. They’ve sent for Jimmy again. I thought—” Her voice died away. She caught his hand in a convulsive clasp. “Do you think—they’re going—to arrest him?”

He said quite coolly, “I shouldn’t think so—not at present. But it isn’t the end of all things if they do. Don’t look like that. I expect they only want to ask him some more questions. There’s that damned will—”

“They had him in there for ages about that as soon as they came this morning.”

He began to walk her up and down. There were big bushes of musk rose on either side of the path, full of their early autumn bloom—pink buds and creamy flowers, and a heavenly smell. It didn’t seem real. But Antony was real.

They walked up and down and talked. She told him about Manny, and he said,

“I wonder if it will make any difference.”

That frightened her, because she had been building on it, and because she and Antony had made Manny do it. They had made Manny go and accuse herself, and if it wasn’t going to be any good, then why had they done it? Everything inside her mind seemed to slip. It gave her a dreadful feeling of giddiness. Words went past her without meaning anything.

When she got hold of herself again Antony was saying in a voice with an edge to it,

“He’s got to rouse up. This will has just about put the lid on everything. When he comes out I’m going to tackle him. You’d better stay and lend a hand. Up to now it’s all been ‘poor old Jimmy,’ and the family hushing themselves up and walking round him like a lot of cats on hot bricks. It’s got to stop. Jimmy’s in a damned dangerous position. The sooner he realizes it and begins to put up a bit of a fight, the better.”

“What can he do?”

“He can stop saying Lois didn’t commit suicide every time he opens his mouth.”

Julia turned to look up at him.

“Does it matter what he says?”

“Of course it does! We’ve all been fools. We ought to have backed up the suicide idea for all we were worth. If they’ve let Manny go, it means they’re not taking her confession very seriously. And why? It seems to me there are two reasons. The first is that she hadn’t any possible opportunity of making sure that Lois got the poisoned cup and she would never have chanced Jimmy getting it. The second is they think Jimmy did it. He’s got to be made to realize where he stands. He’s got to rouse up and come out of all this self-accusation about Lois’ death. At the moment he’s giving such an extraordinarily good imitation of guilt and remorse that if it was anyone but Jimmy, I might be carried away by it myself. Look here, Julia, is it possible that the stuff wasn’t in the coffee? Did Lois have anything at dinner—anything at all— that the rest of you didn’t have?”

She shook her head.

“The police have been over every mouthful we ate or drank. The coffee was the only chance—the only thing she had that the rest of us didn’t have too. There was no way out there.”

They had reached the corner of the walk where it came out upon the lawn. Jimmy Latter was coming towards them over the grass. He looked ill and desperately forlorn. When he came up to them he said in a halting voice,

“I don’t know why they wanted to see me. It all goes for nothing.”

Antony had dropped Julia’s arm. Standing back, he seemed to loom up over her and Jimmy, very tall and bleak, brows drawn together in a frown. He said sharply,

“What did they ask you?”

“Something about Min giving me some aspirins.”

“When was that?”

“On Tuesday evening. I hadn’t slept—I felt as if I should go mad if I didn’t sleep. But she wouldn’t give me the morphia—she said it was dangerous. I didn’t care whether it was or not—I only wanted to sleep. But she took it away and gave me the aspirins instead. They didn’t make me sleep.”

Julia felt as if she was standing in ice-cold water. Antony said in a new, cutting voice,

“Minnie had morphia in her cupboard? You talked of it, handled it? Both of you? Do the police know this?”

Jimmy lifted vague, unhappy eyes.

“That girl Gladys Marsh was listening at the door. She told them.”

Antony’s hand came down hard on his shoulder.

“Then you’ll have to rouse up and fight—if you don’t want to hang.”

The cold came up as high as Julia’s heart. She saw Jimmy’s face twitch. A deep flush came up in it, more distressing than the pallor had been. He said something inarticulate.

Antony went on harshly.

“Good God, Jimmy—can’t you see how you stand? It’s one thing after another. You have a serious breach with your wife, and within forty-eight hours she dies of morphia poisoning. Either she committed suicide, or one of three people poisoned her—Ellie—Minnie—you. No one else could have done it without running the risk of your getting the stuff instead. You keep on saying it can’t be suicide and wanting us to say so too. You come in for a lot of money under Lois’ will. And now you tell me the police have got a witness to the fact that you and Minnie were handling a bottle of morphia on Tuesday night. Wake up, man!”

Jimmy Latter seemed to steady himself. He said quite quietly,

“What can I do?”

Antony took his hand away.

“That’s better! Keep it up! You can stop being so sure it wasn’t suicide, to start with.”

“You said it wasn’t yourself—you said she wouldn’t. I’d give my right hand to be sure about that.”

Antony said, “I’ve been a fool—we all have. We’d better stop, especially you. The other thing you can do is to think-— really think—about who shared out that coffee on Wednesday night. Julia took in the tray with two cups on it and put it down on the table. Minnie says they were still there when she came through. She says Lois was putting the sugar in. They both went out on to the terrace. Ellie came in next. She says she didn’t notice the cups. You came in and found her there. Then she went out to call Lois and Minnie. Now, Jimmy, think—think hard! Were those two cups still on the tray?”

Jimmy put up a finger and rubbed his nose.

“I don’t know—I don’t remember. I don’t believe I noticed them—I wasn’t thinking of things like coffee cups.”

“Well, there must have been a time when you began to think about them—at least about your own, because you picked it up and drank the coffee. You did, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I drank it. The cup was on the table by my chair.”

“You remember that. Well, how did it get there? And when did it get there?”

Jimmy shook his head.

“I don’t know. It was there and I drank it.”

“Was it there before the others came in from the terrace?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t go and sit down in my chair till after they all came in.”

“What were you doing?”

“I was over by the paper-table turning over the papers.”

“With your back to the room?”

“Yes—I suppose so.”

Antony said in an exasperated voice,

“Don’t you remember anything?”

“I remember that the coffee was on the table by my chair, and that I drank it. I don’t remember anything else.”

“You mean it was there when you eventually went to your chair and sat down?”

“I suppose it was.”

Antony controlled himself.

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember anything, except that I drank the coffee. It’s no good badgering me. I wasn’t thinking about what was going on—I wasn’t noticing. I was trying to think what I was going to do—”

“Do?”

Jimmy nodded.

“About Lois. We couldn’t go on. I had to think—to make up my mind—”

Antony caught him by the arm.

“For God’s sake don’t say that sort of thing to the police!”

“Well, you asked me. That’s what I was thinking about. I didn’t notice anything until I picked up the cup, so it’s no use worrying me about how it got there.” He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and said with a kind of absent-minded irrelevance, “They’re having the inquest tomorrow afternoon—at the Bull.”

Some time in the afternoon Miss Silver again requested a few words with Julia Vane. She had, as a matter of fact, contrived to have a few words with several other members of the family either before or after lunch. She found Julia in the old schoolroom alone. Coming in with her knitting-bag on her arm, she closed the door and remarked brightly upon the pleasant view from the windows and the number of familiar books upon the shelves.

“Charlotte Yonge—how perfectly she recreated the mid-Victorian period. Lifelike in the extreme. No one has ever presented with such fidelity those large families which are now, alas, a thing of the past. Really most vivid. The Heir of Redclyffe is rather too sad, but the many tears which were shed for that poor young man are certainly a tribute to her art. I must own to a preference for a happy ending, but one cannot cavil when so much faith and courage are inculcated. One day I believe that Miss Yonge will be admitted as the equal of Trollope, if not his superior. Will you not sit down, Miss Vane?”

Julia did so. Since the day had to be got through somehow, it didn’t seem to matter very much whether she gazed idly from a window or discussed Victorian novelists with Miss Silver. Antony had taken Jimmy for a tramp. Ellie had gone over to see Ronnie Street. Minnie, she hoped, was lying down. She took the nearest chair and raised tragic eyes.

The preference which she had just expressed for happy endings induced Miss Silver to return the look with a very kind one.

“All this is very trying,” she said. “Pray do not think me unsympathetic if I ask you once more to tax your memory for some details about Wednesday evening.”

“I don’t think there is anything more to tell you.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Perhaps not. In the course of my professional experience I have found that those nearest to a tragedy do almost invariably know more than they have told. Sometimes what they do not tell is held back of design because they are afraid that if it is told it will injure someone whom they love. Sometimes they do not realize that they have anything to tell. In the present case it is certain that some knowledge is being withheld. I do not say why it is being withheld, or who is withholding it. I do not know. But I am quite sure that here in this house, there are, let us say, scraps and fragments of knowledge which, brought together, would provide a solution of a tragic problem. I am going to ask you to let me have any such fragments as you may possess. Pray do not withhold anything because you are afraid. Fear is not a satisfactory motive.”

Julia’s eyes had remained fixed upon her: She said,

“I don’t think I am keeping anything back.”

Miss Silver had begun to knit.

“We will see. I am anxious to have as much information as possible about the state of Mrs. Latter’s mind on Wednesday evening.”

“I didn’t see her between lunch and supper.”

“Did she come straight down into the dining-room?”

“Yes. Ellie rang the bell and I came out of my room. Lois caught me up on the stairs and we went down together.”

“How did she seem? Depressed—nervous?”

“Not in the least. She seemed just as usual.”

“You must remember that I had not the pleasure of her acquaintance. Will you do your best to give me an idea of her usual manner?”

Julia frowned.

“I didn’t like her,” she said bluntly—“I expect you know that. You’ve seen her photographs. She was very good-looking. Everything about her was very finished—her hair, her skin, her nails—her manner. Everything in perfect control. If I’m cross or rude, it’s because I’m tired, or I’m unhappy, or I’m angry. If I quarrel with anyone, it just happens. Lois wasn’t like that. If she was rude, it was because she meant to be rude. Things didn’t just happen with her—she made them happen. I daresay I’m not being fair to her—you can’t really be fair when you dislike anyone. I looked at her through my dislike. I’m telling you how I saw her.”

Miss Silver gazed thoughtfully in her direction.

“Control?”

Julia nodded.

“Yes—all the time. I don’t think she ever let up.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“She caught you up on the stairs. Had you any conversation with her?”

“She talked about Jimmy.”

“Will you tell me exactly what she said—word for word if you can?”

Julia pushed back her hair. The scene rose in her mind, a picture on a lighted screen. Lois catching her up. Lois talking about Jimmy. The words spoke themselves again. She repeated them.

“She said, ‘Another lively meal. You’ll have to help us through. You know, I’m really worried about Jimmy. We’ve had a row. Everybody in the house must know that by now, the way he’s advertizing it.’ I said something—I don’t know what it was. And she said, ‘He looks awful. I’ve never seen him like this before—have you?’ I said, ‘Not quite so bad,’ and she said, ‘Well, I wish he’d come off it. It’s giving me the creeps—’ ” She stopped.

Miss Silver said, “Was that all?”

“Yes.”

“At that time were you aware of the reason for the quarrel between them? Did you know of the scene in Mr. Antony Latter’s room on Monday night?”

“No.”

“You thought it was an ordinary quarrel?”

“I thought it was about old Hodson’s cottage. Lois had been telling a lot of lies to get him out of it, and Jimmy had found her out. Hodson stopped him in the road and told him. I was there.”

“You thought that was enough to account for the breach between them?”

“I thought it was enough to account for a pretty bad quarrel. Jimmy hates lies. And he worshipped Lois—he thought she was an angel. It was a pretty bad shock.”

Miss Silver said, “I see—” She knitted for a while in silence, and then said suddenly and directly, “Miss Vane, you are very intelligent. You were in contact with these people immediately before the poisoning took place. You say Mrs. Latter was as usual. Did that continue throughout the meal?”

“Yes. She talked—chiefly to me, sometimes to Ellie.”

“What did she talk about?”

“A play I had seen. She asked me if it was good. I made the subject last as long as possible. She told a story about some friends of hers taking a house and not being able to get the previous tenants out. It was just talk, you know.”

“And Mr. Latter?”

“He sat there. He didn’t talk, and he didn’t eat.”

“Mrs. Latter did both?”

“Oh, yes.”

With every word the weight on Julia’s heart grew heavier. She had held nothing back. And what did it go to prove? Could she herself believe that Lois meant to take her own life—that as she talked, as she ate and drank, she knew that she had only an hour or two to live? It wasn’t possible. Jimmy’s image rose—his pallid face, his reddened eyes, the hand which shook as he tilted the whisky decanter. The worst fear she had known came in like a flood.

Miss Silver said quickly, “Are you all right?”

Julia said, “Yes. But that’s all. I don’t know any more.”

She got up and went out of the room.

One of her short sentences remained, to burn like a small, clear light in Miss Silver’s mind.