So Bad a Death (11 page)

“That just shows what the influence of a good player can do,” she remarked fulsomely. I made no comment as I moved after my ball and took up a stance.

Miss Potts-Power chatted on in an unconcerned fashion behind me. Ames was giving her lessons. Didn't I think he was a frightfully nice man? So handsome and well-spoken. So utterly devoted to his wife and son, and to his poor old father, and, of course, the Hollands too. Indeed he was marvellous to everybody, even poor little her.

I made a swipe at my ball, hoping for the best.

“I don't often get the opportunity to play golf, you know. But Mother was having a nap and I just felt I had to get out. She always has a nap when we are going out at night. I'm sure you can't guess where we're going. I'll give you three chances.”

I glowered at the distance separating my ball from the pin.

“The Zoo!” I suggested.

“‘The Zoo',” she repeated blankly. “Oh, you're teasing me. All right, if you won't play—”

“I'm trying to,” I muttered fiercely, following through the putt.

“—I'll tell you. It is such a coincidence, really. It's all over the village about Mr Holland's party. You can't keep anything secret in Middleburn. It is just as well Mrs Ames could mind Tony, because I was going to offer if she couldn't, you know, and I never break a promise, even though it means doing without some outing more pleasant.”

I sank my ball at last and held the pin as Miss Potts-Power holed out in five or six putts. The last one ended on the tip of the hole. I gave it a surreptitious nudge with my toe to help it on its way.

“Mother and I have been invited to dinner at Holland Hall. There now, aren't you surprised?”

“Very!” I said, knowing my cue. “But why should I be?”

“How silly of me! Of course you haven't been here long enough to know. And actually it was Ames who issued the invitation, so it mightn't count for anything.”

“You are holding me in suspense,” I said, speculating on the best way to cross the creek half-way down the sixth fairway. A discreet
stroke to land just this side or a bold bid in the hope it might come off?

“You always lose a ball here,” Miss Potts-Power said happily. “Ames must find dozens in that creek.”

“He won't find any of mine,” I said, playing the careful game. “You were saying about tonight?”

“Tonight? Oh, yes. So odd of Mr Holland. You see, he and mother haven't spoken to each other for years.” She paused for effect.

I made some fitting sound of incredulity.

“What do you make of it, Mrs Matheson? You are a bit of a detective, I believe.”

I slammed my wood into the bag with unnecessary force.

Blast Connie and her prattling!

“On the face of it I should say the quarrel, if such it was, was going to be forgotten at last.”

“As a matter of fact,” Miss Potts-Power confessed, “I don't know if there was any actual quarrel. You see, mother has never spoken of it.”

“In that case,” I suggested, “it would be better not to waste our time with idle speculation. I wonder if you'd think me terribly rude if I went on. I'm anxious to get back to Tony.”

“Of course not,” she said, looking hurt. “Anyway, I'll see you tonight. Maybe we can have a nice long chat then.”

I finished the fifteenth hole and paused to add up my card. The result was not too startling; in fact, low enough to make the playing of another three holes interesting. A mist hung low over the creek again. I glanced up at the sky. It had become overcast with a thin layer of cloud.

I gave an undecided look at my watch, shrugged and climbed on to the next tee. I played the next two holes well and felt fully justified in stealing time. This self-satisfaction vanished when I lost a ball second stroke off the last fairway. The mist was creeping up steadily. Combined with the fading daylight, I was forced to abandon the search in disgust.

I took a mental photograph of the approximate position of the ball, determined to try the search again the following day. Golf balls were too hard to come by to go losing them through sheer stupidity.

II

It was after six when I turned into the gateway of the Dower. Tony was having tea in the kitchen with his new friend. Some lively and completely unintelligible conversation was going on between them. Mrs Ames sat between them, her head bent over some intricate fancywork. She looked up as I burst in, anxious to see Tony after what now seemed a long separation.

“I hope you had a pleasant game,” she remarked, bending her head again swiftly.

“Very pleasant, thank you. Tony, my lamb, not all that much in your mouth.”

Robin had finished his tea. He slipped from his chair, wiping a perfectly clean face on an equally spotless feeder. Mrs Ames came up behind him to untie it, while I poured more milk for Tony.

“Now remember, Robin,” I heard her say in a low tone. “Go home by the road and be very careful.”

“Are you sending Robin home by himself?” I asked, swinging round in surprise. It was nearly pitch-dark outside with that nasty mist coming up. Although the child seemed highly intelligent, he was not much more than a baby.

“Let him play with Tony while I get changed,” I suggested. “I'll take him on my way to the Hall.”

She accepted my offer without hesitation. I caught the merest hint of a smile on her averted face and felt warmed by it. You would hate to think that a woman who had been looking after your child as competently as she seemed to have looked after Tony and to whom you felt indebted was incapable of any response.

The two children delighted in the unexpected prolongation and spent the time rushing madly up and down the passage. Their shrieks of delight at this energetic and purposeless form of entertainment
came to me as I took a leisurely bath and changed into a dinner dress. It was fun getting into a long skirt once again. I topped off the black crepe with a candy-striped jacket, and went to the mirror.

I took a satisfied look at my reflection from every possible angle and then a dissatisfied one at the bedroom clock. John was cutting it fine. I laid out his clothes in a dutiful fashion, and leaving the bedroom light aglow, went down the passage to the lounge-room, switching on lights as I went.

Tony rushed headlong to meet me. I snatched him up for a minute. Mrs Ames had bathed him before tea and put him into striped pyjamas and a scarlet dressing-gown. He wriggled away and tore down the passage after Robin.

Smell when allied to instinct becomes a highly acute sense. I could always tell when someone strange had been in my house. I had felt that as soon as I had returned from golf. Even if I hadn't known Mrs Ames and Robin were in the house, that sense would still have been mine. It was very strong as I entered the lounge-room. I smiled a little to myself. Not that I minded Mrs Ames using my sitting-room, but it did not seem quite in accordance with my conception of her. I wondered if she had inspected every room in the Dower. I could find out from Tony if I cared to pump a child in such a futile cause.

John came in just then. I was in the hall as soon as I heard his step on the flagged path. I hurried him off to change, and sat down to glance through the evening paper he had brought home.

There was a small oblong box lying alongside the paper. I opened it with the lack of conscience which wives seem to develop after a few years of married life. A dainty little corsage was inside. I pinned it onto the lapel of my jacket feeling abominably sentimental.

John came back presently, slipping cigarettes into his case. “Why is it,” he demanded in a resigned fashion, “women always mess up a newspaper?”

He started to clear up the sheets on the floor while I sat clinging to one, my eyes glued on an item in the personal column.

“Did you see this?” I asked.

“See what? By the way, you might wait until I give you gifts before you thank me for them.”

“Sorry, but I was overwhelmed. Have a look at this.”

He read above my pointing finger. I looked into his face to see his reaction. He smiled round at me gently and said: “Are you ready, Mrs Matheson? May I offer you my arm?”

I put the paper down. “You knew about it,” I accused him, rising and slipping a fur cape over my shoulders.

“Detectives always read the personal column. You never know what you may pick up.”

“Well, what do you think about it?” I asked, goaded.

“It is certainly an original way to ask anyone to dinner. Tell me, should I go and say something polite to the nursemaid?”

“No, but you could slip her the fee she expects and is entitled to. We are escorting young Robin home too. Find him while I tuck Tony in.”

My question had been gracefully but firmly evaded. John did not intend to discuss the item in the paper. I wondered if it was because I had been reticent about affairs at the Hall and he was piqued, or whether his attitude was becoming official. His remark was a fine example of understatement. To invite a man to dinner through the medium of the personal column was in itself odd, but when one knew that the proposed guest had disappeared in suspicious circumstances several days earlier the situation was even more out of the way.

“Will he be able to get himself to bed?” I asked Mrs Ames as Robin presented his hand in an enchanting fashion. His little fingers curled into mine without any shyness.

Mrs Ames watched him, answering my question with a nod.

“I hope you won't be lonely here by yourself,” I persevered, trying to break through Harriet Ames' reserve.

“No, I won't be lonely,” she replied, waiting for me to go.

She stood at the end of the hall as John opened the front door.

“Good night,” I called, raising one hand.

“Don't try so hard, Maggie,” John said, pulling the door to.

“Hullo. Who's this?”

The gate of the Dower had opened, and a female figure picked its way over the flags.

“Why, Miss Cruikshank! Good evening.” I was surprised.

Miss Potts-Power had declared the Squire's party was all over the village. “I'm afraid we are just on our way out.”

“Oh, dear!” Miss Cruikshank said. “I must be too early. She did say seven. The clock in the shop must have gained.”

John had sized up the situation. He inserted his key in the door and swung it open. I caught a glimpse of Harriet Ames still standing at the end of the hall.

“A caller for you,” John said pleasantly. He gently pushed Miss Cruikshank inside and shut the door again.

“But why didn't she say she had asked someone to keep her company,” I exclaimed. “I would not have minded.”

“Mrs Ames does not waste her breath in superfluous explanations. You asked if she would be lonely and she said no. Reason why would have transpired.”

We followed the road round the curve to the entrance gates of the Hall, Robin still holding my hand in his engaging way. Further discussion on his mother's supreme reticence was inadvisable. His fingers moved slightly at the mention of her name.

Light shone from the unshaded windows of the Lodge. We could see inside the cosy living room. Robin's grandfather sat opposite another man at a table drawn up in front of the fire. One hand was poised over the chess pieces set out between them. He heard the steps on the stone porch and looked up. With a word to his companion he rose to his feet and disappeared out of vision. Robin loosened his hand and went forward eagerly as his grandfather appeared.

Old man Ames was as courteous as his son, but his manner held more warmth and sincerity. His attitude never conveyed the impression of a superficial correctitude as Robert Ames' did. He thanked us for bringing Robin home and seemed quite prepared to chat for a while had not John drawn my attention to the time.

The porch light was left aglow as we went up the drive, but this was soon lost to view, smothered by the developing fog. The poplars growing on either side of the drive seemed more closely knit by night. It was as though we were walking through a deep tunnel.

I made one or two rhetorical remarks to John, but he grunted, and did not seem disposed to talk. I had lost some of my exhilaration
too. It had changed into a nervous excitement. That silent walk in the darkness and fog did not inspire gaiety. On the other hand there was an anticipatory thrill about it, as if the stillness and gloom were a prelude to feverish activity.

But even through the darkness I saw, or else my imagination sketched, the vague outline of the square white tower of the Hall looking down on us as we approached.

I began to be foolish and glance over my shoulder. But my imagination had not gone beyond the bounds of reality.

“Mat,” I said suddenly, using an old nickname in my fright. John pulled me gently into the shade of the poplars. He seemed conscious of another presence too, and pressed my arm warningly. We stood there for one minute, two. Presently a shadow moved on the far side of the poplars. It moved quickly and quietly in the direction of the house. There was a slight brushing of the leafless branches. Except for that sound I might have imagined the dim form. But there was no breeze to make those trees move.