Poison In The Pen (10 page)

The inquest on Connie Brooke took place at eleven o’clock on Saturday morning. Only formal evidence was taken, after which the police applied for an adjournment. Miss Wayne having announced her intention of attending, Miss Silver offered to accompany her, and was profusely thanked.

“Oh, if you would! I should find it such a support! These things are so painful, and until last year I went nowhere without my dear sister.”

In other circumstances Miss Silver might have pointed out that the painful experience could easily be avoided by the simple expedient of staying at home. As, however, her professional interest was engaged, she made no attempt to dissuade Miss Renie, who duly appeared in the full mourning outfit which she had worn at Miss Esther’s funeral. She provided herself with an extra handkerchief, confiding to Miss Silver that an inquest always made her cry—“And it seems no time at all since I was at poor Doris Pell’s.”

The inquest was at the George, its largest room having been placed at the Coroner’s disposal. It was packed. After the medical evidence had testified to the very large number of tablets which the dead girl must have swallowed, Miss Maggie Repton was called to the chair which had been set at the far side of the Coroner’s table. She took the oath in a series of gasps and sat pulling at the corners of her handkerchief. It is to be assumed that the Coroner himself was able to hear her replies to the questions which he put, but it was only when he repeated them that they reached anyone else. Asked if she had given Connie Brooke a bottle of sleeping tablets, she was understood to indicate that she had.

“What made you do that, Miss Repton?”

Her murmured reply appeared as, “She hadn’t been sleeping.”

“Did you tell her how many tablets to take?”

There was a slight movement of the head, followed by another murmur.

“Oh, you think the dose was on the bottle. Are you not sure about that?”

Here the Police Inspector intervened to state that the dose was on the label, but the lettering was rubbed and faint. The bottle was produced and scrutinized. The Coroner said,

“Yes. It is not at all clear. Now, Miss Repton, how many tablets did this bottle contain?”

It emerged that Miss Maggie had no idea. After a series of such questions as “If you can’t say exactly, can you make a guess? Was it half full—a quarter full—very nearly empty?” it had still been impossible to draw her into expressing any opinion. She gasped, she whispered, she pressed the by now extremely crumpled handkerchief to her eyes, but no faintest gleam of light was cast upon the number of tablets in the bottle which she had given to Connie Brooke.

Miss Eccles succeeded her, taking the oath clearly and giving her evidence with businesslike precision. She had walked across the Green with Connie Brooke as far as Holly Cottage and said good-night to her there. They had talked about the sleeping-tablets, and she had cautioned Connie strongly against taking more than one. Pressed upon this point, she repeated it with emphasis.

“She wasn’t accustomed to anything of the sort, and I told her she ought not to take more than one.”

“Did she make any comment?”

“No, she didn’t. We got off on to her not being able to swallow anything like a pill. She said she would crush the tablet up and put it in the cocoa which she had left ready on the stove. I told her it would taste horrible—and then I remembered and said, ‘Oh, but you don’t taste things, do you?’ ”

“Yes, that was in Dr. Taylor’s evidence—she had lost her sense of taste after an illness. Now, Miss Eccles, when you were referring to the dose she was going to dissolve you used the words ‘a tablet.’ Is that what Miss Brooke said?”

Mettie Eccles said,

“I’m not sure. I was thinking about her taking a tablet. I had just told her she ought not to take more, but I’m not sure whether she said ‘a tablet’ or ‘tablets.’ I’m sorry, but I can’t be certain about it.”

Under the Coroner’s questioning she gave a very clear and composed account of Penny Marsh running over to fetch her next morning, and of how they had found Connie Brooke lying dead upon her bed. She was questioned as to the saucepan that had held the cocoa.

“Did you wash it up and put it away?”

“Oh, no. She must have done that herself.”

“It is not for us to assume what Miss Brooke did.”

Mettie Eccles did not exactly toss her head. There was just some slight indication that she might have done so if she had not been restrained by respect for the court. What she did do was to say very firmly indeed,

“Connie would never have left a saucepan dirty.” There was very little more after that. The police asked for an adjournment. The Coroner left his seat, the spectators streamed away by ones and twos, the room at the George returned to its normal uses.

Valentine Grey was walking in the woods behind the Manor. She had come there to meet Jason. When he came he put his arms around her and they stayed like that for quite a long time, just holding one another. Presently he said,

“When are we going to get married?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t ever asked me.”

“I don’t need to ask you. I couldn’t before I went away, because it didn’t seem so very likely that I should come back. And now there’s no need. You know.”

“I might like to be asked.”

“On bended knee in the proper romantic style!” He went down on the carpet of pine needles and kissed both her hands. “Will you do me the very great honour of marrying me?”

She looked down at him, her eyes shining, her lips not quite steady. This was not the Valentine who had stood at the chancel step to rehearse her marriage to Gilbert Earle. Her hands shook in his, her colour came and went. She said,

“I don’t know—” Her voice shook too.

“You do. You know perfectly well. And mind you, it’s your only chance, because I certainly shouldn’t let you marry anyone else.”

Her lips quivered into a smile.

“How would you stop me?”

He got up without letting go of her.

“I should forbid the banns. You know it’s a thing I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Does anyone ever?”

“Oh, I believe it’s been done. You stand up and get it off your chest good and loud, and the parson stops and says he will see you in the vestry afterwards. And no one listens to another word of the service, least of all you, because of course you are thinking up what you are going to say in the vestry.”

“And what would you be going to say? It would have to be a just cause or impediment, you know.”

He said,

“There’s an old posy ring of my mother’s that I want to give you. It has been in the family since about the same time of the Armada. The writing inside is so small that you have to use a magnifying glass to read it, and it has had to be renewed a great many times. It says:

‘If you love me as I love you,

Nothing but death shall part us two.’

“Don’t you think that’s a just cause and impediment to your marrying anyone else?”

“I suppose—it might be—”

It was some time later that she said, “Will you have—to go—again—”

“Not to the same places. They got wise to me this time, so I shouldn’t be very much use. Would you like to settle down and farm?”

“I’d love it.”

“Then when will you marry me?”

“Jason, I don’t know. You see, as far as anyone can tell I’m still engaged to Gilbert. People just think the wedding was put off on account of Connie Brooke.”

He gave a half angry laugh.

“That is all you know! I get the low-down from Mrs. Needham. Half the village is talking about poor Mr. Earle, and the other half thinks he must have blotted his copy-book pretty badly or you wouldn’t have done it. But they are all quite sure that he has been given the push, and that the wedding is definitely off. The postman has noticed that he doesn’t write, and the girls in the telephone exchange are quite positive he hasn’t rung up, so the matter is considered to be settled. You had better get on with informing the family and putting a notice in the papers.”

“Oh, I’ve told Roger and Maggie, and I suppose Roger has told Scilla. She hasn’t said anything.”

“And what did Roger and Maggie say?”

She lifted his hand and laid it against her cheek.

“Oh, Maggie cried and said marriage was very uncertain, and she had often felt thankful that she had escaped it.”

“Poor old Maggie.”

“Darling, she was rather pathetic. She said how unhappy my father and mother had been, and she talked about Roger and Scilla.”

“And what did Roger talk about?”

“He hardly said anything at all. I told him I shouldn’t be marrying Gilbert, and he didn’t even ask why. He stood with his back to me and looked out of the window, and all he said was, ‘Well, I suppose you know your own business.’ So I said yes, I did, and that was just about all.”

Jason did not speak. After a moment she went on.

“I had one of those horrible letters on Thursday morning. I can’t help wondering whether Roger had one too.”

“Tommy did.”

“Tommy!”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Jason—”

“Look here, this is just between you and me.”

“Of course. What did it say?”

“Accused Gilbert of intending to commit bigamy, and asked Tommy if he was prepared to aid and abet. Put him in quite a spot. On the one hand you don’t take any notice of anonymous letters, and on the other you can’t take a chance about letting a girl in for a bigamous marriage. Tommy ought to be blessing us for getting him out of the mess.”

She was leaning against him. Gilbert was gone, and everything felt very safe and comfortable. She said,

“Did Tommy’s letter say Gilbert had married a girl called Marie Dubois in Canada?”

“It did. Without saying where or when. Anonymity strictly preserved throughout. Let me see—he was in Canada, wasn’t he?”

“A long time ago. He couldn’t have been more than about twenty. I wonder if he really did marry Marie.”

“May have done. If he was had for a mug when he was all that young and she was dead, he might not have thought it necessary to mention her. Or there might have been a divorce. I should hardly think he would risk being run in for bigamy. We’ll ask him about it some day. Just casually, you know—at a cocktail party, or a railway station, or any of the other places where you are liable to have a head-on collision with the people you don’t want to meet.”

“Darling, what a fool you are!”

What a heavenly feeling to be able to laugh at something that had been a nightmare. They laughed together. Jason said,

“What do you bet I don’t do it? Some day when we are safely married. I would, you know, for tuppence. Something on the lines of ‘Oh, by the way, what happened to that girl you married in Canada, Marie Dubois?’ ”

“You wouldn’t!”

“You wait and see!”

Scilla Repton lifted the telephone receiver in the study and asked for a London number. Of course the girl in the telephone exchange would listen if she thought there was anything to listen to, but what did it matter? If you lived in a village you didn’t have any private affairs to speak of anyway. If you heard too often from anyone, Mrs. Gurney at the post office got to know the writing and could make a pretty shrewd guess at the writer. Scilla had heard her say quite openly across the counter things like, “Oh, no, Mrs. Lawson, there’s nothing from your Ernie to-day—just a card from your sister in Birmingham.”

She waited for the click of the receiver and thought what she was going to say. It took her some time to get hold of Gilbert Earle, and when she did get him he couldn’t have sounded stuffier. He heard her laugh.

“Really, Gilbert—what a voice! Anyone would think we had quarrelled!”

He said in very good French, “A little discretion, if you please.”

She sounded amused.

“I can’t be bothered. Besides there’s nothing to bother about. Roger tells me the wedding is off, and a good job too. Anyone could see with half an eye that it was going to be a case of marry in haste and repent at leisure, so you’re well out of it, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

She allowed her voice to soften.

“It’ll all come out in the wash, darling. Look here, I’ve got to come up to town, and I thought we might lunch together. What about it?”

“I hardly think this is the moment.”

“What a foul thing to say! It’s Val who has turned you down, not me. I thought I might provide a little hand-holding—you sound as if you needed it. Nothing like being seen about with somebody else as soon as possible. I mean, darling, how much more agreeable to have people coming up and asking you who was the smashing blonde you were lunching with, instead of drifting along to condole at some horrid solitary snack bar. You know, what you want at the moment is a tonic, and so do I. I’ll say I’m going to the dentist. That always goes down well, and as a matter of fact I’m about due for a date with him. And Mamie would lend us her flat and not ask any questions. So Monday at the old place at one o’clock. The best of everything!” She rang off in a hurry because she thought she heard a movement behind her.

But she had not rung off in time. The sound which she had heard was not the sound of the opening but of the closing door. Roger Repton was already in the room. The latch clicked, he leaned back against the panels, and said in an odd dead voice,

“Who were you talking to?”

She said the first name that came into her head, the one she had used to Gilbert Earle.

“Mamie Foster. I’ve got to go and see the dentist, and I thought I’d go back to her flat afterwards and have a bit of a rest before coming down again. He may want to give me gas.”

He stood there with his hand on the door behind him.

“That is a lie.”

“Roger!”

His voice had not altered. She knew his temper to be a violent one. There was something unnatural about this leaden tone. He said,

“You were not talking to Mamie Foster, you were talking about her. You were going to meet Gilbert Earle, and you were talking to him. You said, ‘I’ll say I’m going to the dentist—that always goes down well. And Mamie would lend us her flat and not ask any questions.’ And you would meet him at the old place at one o’clock on Monday. You see it’s no use telling any more lies, because I know. If you have been in the habit of meeting him at Mamie Foster’s flat, it should be possible to get evidence of the fact, in which case I shall divorce you. Someone was kind enough to send me an anonymous letter informing me that you have been having an affair with Gilbert. I think Valentine probably had a letter too. I haven’t asked her, and she hasn’t said so, but I imagine that you have had your share in breaking up her marriage. You can go to Gilbert Earle, or you can go to your accommodating friend Mamie Foster, or you can go to hell. But I should like you to get out of my house.” He stood away from the door and opened it. “You had better go and pack.”

She was between fear and anger. Something desperate in her was urging her to burn her boats. Why not kick over the traces, upset the apple cart, and get back to the old life? She was better looking than she had ever been, and her figure was just as good. She could get back into the show business, and Gilbert would come to heel all right. She was fed to the teeth with the country and with Roger. But she was frightened of this desperate urge. She could remember the times when she had been out of a job—when she was cold, tired, hungry, and nobody cared a damn whether she lived or died. If Roger divorced her she would lose the money he had settled on her. There were the horrid words in the settlement which the lawyer had been careful to explain to her—dum casta, whilst chaste. If she went through the divorce court she wouldn’t get a penny. But if she stayed here—if she could stick it out—and Roger died… She wouldn’t be so badly off at all… He was getting on…

All these thoughts were in her mind like birds beating against a window. It was the fear that broke through. She heard herself saying in a loud scornful voice,

“An anonymous letter? One of those filthy things that have been going round? How dare you!”

He made no response to her heat as he said,

“A filthy letter about a filthy thing.”

“Lies—lies—lies!”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think so. The letter was quite circumstantial. You were with Gilbert Earle and you were spied on, and I think I know by whom. I think I know who wrote the letter.”

She put up her hand to her throat. The pulse of anger beat there—the pulse of fear.

“Who was it?”

“You would like to know, wouldn’t you? Perhaps it was you yourself. It would have been one way of breaking off Valentine’s marriage, wouldn’t it? It would have been one way of getting out of your own! What do you and your friends care about divorce—it doesn’t mean anything to you! But you had better be sure that Gilbert will marry you before you walk out.”

She said in a voice that was edged with anger,

“I thought you were turning me out! Suppose I haven’t got anywhere to go to! Suppose I just say I’m going to stay!”

He had a sense of having gone too far, of having embarked upon a course which would involve them all in a devastating scandal. If he went any farther, there could be no turning back. How far had she really gone herself—how far had she meant to go? Gilbert wouldn’t marry her if he could help it. He had an empty title coming to him. He couldn’t afford a scandal, and he couldn’t afford to marry a woman who wouldn’t have a penny. These were not consecutive thoughts. They were there in the cooling temper of his mind.

They had both forgotten the open door. Roger remembered it now. He pushed it to as he said,

“I have no desire to put myself in the wrong by turning you out. You can make your plans, and you can take your time. In any case you’ll have to stay over Tuesday. There must be no scandal before that poor girl’s funeral.”

It was very disappointing for Florrie Stokes when the study door was closed. She had come through into the hall on her lawful business of seeing to the fires and drawing the curtains before dinner. She couldn’t help hearing the angry voices in the study, because it was the first room she came to, only of course when she heard the way Colonel Repton was talking she knew better than to go in. She didn’t mean to listen— well, not really—but the way the Colonel was talking, not loud but ever so distinct and bitter—well, she just couldn’t help it. And the very first thing she heard was something about getting evidence of Mrs. Repton meeting Mr. Gilbert at her friend Mamie Foster’s flat and going for a divorce. And he went on, “You can go to Gilbert Earle, or you can go to your accommodating friend Mamie Foster, or you can go to hell. But I should like you to get out of my house.” And when he got as far as that the door began to open, and it was all she could do to get back out of sight. Even then if Mrs. Repton had come out, she would have been caught. But Mrs. Repton didn’t come out. She said very clear and angry—something about an anonymous letter and, “How dare you!”

After that Florrie just couldn’t tear herself away. With the door open, she could stand right back against the baize door which went through to the kitchen premises. If one of them put a foot into the hall she would be just coming through to her work and nothing to say how long she had been there. She could hear everything they said, and it was as good as being at the pictures. Of course everyone knew Mrs. Repton was flighty, just the same as they knew she’d been carrying on with Mr. Gilbert on the sly. And serve her right if the Colonel had found her out. She’d got a husband of her own, hadn’t she, and it was a downright shame doing anything to upset Miss Valentine’s marriage. Only of course now that Mr. Jason was back Miss Valentine would never want anyone but him—they all knew that.

When Scilla came out of the study with an angry spot on either cheek Florrie had just let the baize door swing to behind her.