The China Governess (33 page)

‘What is all this?' he demanded. ‘Is someone ill? Tim, what are you doing?' He caught sight of Barry Leach. ‘Good Heavens! Who is that?'

A sudden gust of violent protest in a deep yet unexpectedly familiar voice reached them from the open doorway of a room on the opposite side of the corridor. It was Miss Aicheson. She sounded frightened.

‘Be quiet, Mrs. Broome! Hold your damned tongue, woman, and come and help me with him. He's dead, I think.'

‘Isn't that Basil's room?' Eustace did not move but spoke to Timothy. ‘Isn't it?'

‘Of course it is.
Shut up
!' The final admonition was addressed
to his captive, who had reared up suddenly like a frightened animal. ‘Keep quiet!'

Julia was the first to reach the doorway and she turned on the light switch just inside the room. It had been in partial darkness, only the small bedside reading lamp alight. It was the main spare room and a big one, furnished with Tudor elegance, but now the wall tapestries and the long silk curtains were blowing out across the room like banners, and Nanny Broome, fully dressed but white faced and dishevelled, drew her head in through the window.

‘They're coming. I'd been watching them, so I called. The police are coming.'

‘Good God, woman, that's no good!' Miss Aicheson was struggling to lift something in the bed, her clumsy hands plucking at it ineffectually. ‘Look at this! Come here, somebody. Somebody come at once.'

The new arrivals swept forward in a group and for a dizzy moment stood staring uncomprehendingly.

Something huge and shining lay among the pillows. It was a pool of glistening colour, pink and blue and iridescent in the newly blazing light. At least half of those who came upon it so suddenly were reminded absurdly of flowers, a parcelled bouquet freshly delivered from a florist, until in another instance the evidence of their eyes could be denied no longer and the appalling truth came home to them. They were looking at Basil Toberman's face, flushed pinkish purple and with froth upon his lips, lying inside a plastic bag.

Miss Aicheson was both frantic and embarrassed and for the first time appeared an old maid. She had been trying to tear the bag and now, giving up the struggle suddenly, she pulled down the bed-clothes and threw them aside. The heavy polythene sack designed to store a long dress had been pulled down over Toberman's head. The surplus length, bunched into folds, had been tucked tightly about his neck and shoulders and covered by the blankets. Although he had rolled over, and his knees were drawn up, he was still held securely.

Julia reacted instantly with Timothy a quarter second behind her.

‘He's not breathing!' she said. ‘Quick.'

He leapt forward and struggled to get an arm behind the heavy shoulders. ‘I'll lift him. You pull the bag.'

In the emergency he forgot his captive completely and as his grip on the leather sleeve loosened the stranger slid away like a shadow. He made no sudden rush but melted through the little group and shot out into the passage. No one noticed him go; the entire attention of everybody present was focused on the bed. It was proving a little difficult to get Toberman out. The damp plastic over his mouth and nostrils tended to cling and the material was exasperatingly strong and would not tear. It was several seconds before they had him freed.

‘I want to get him on the floor,' Tim said, exerting all his strength to lift the limp figure out on to the carpet. ‘If I get above him I can work on his arms. He's got to be made to breathe somehow.'

His authoritative tone pulled Nanny Broome together. Her dramatics ceased and she dropped on to the floor, to help turn the heavy body. Tim took off his own coat and prepared to give artificial respiration. Both she and Timothy were sitting on their heels and the light which hung from the centre of the ceiling shone down directly on the flushed face of the man between them. Presently she bent forward to look at him more closely and, putting out her hand, pulled the lower eyelid down for a moment.

‘He's just like she was,' she said to Timothy, but speaking distinctly and clearly enough for everyone to hear. ‘I mean that Miss Saxon. She looked just like this but without that froth.'

‘My God, woman, what will you say next!' Eustace's voice rose in horror and then ceased abruptly, as from just outside the door and very close to them there was a scream, apparently of pain. At the same moment they all became aware of heavy footsteps flying up the staircase, while from somewhere far below an unfamiliar male voice was shouting instructions.

Meanwhile Miss Aicheson had recognized the voice.

‘Alison!' She scrambled round the bed and went blundering across the room to the doorway while everyone else save Tim, who was fully occupied, turned to watch her.

Alison reeled into the room and collapsed in her friend's clumsy arms. She was clad in a little-girl dressing-gown splattered with pink roses, and with her hands held over her face and her sleek silver head bowed she looked pathetic.

‘He hit me!' Although her voice was tearful her tone was principally astounded. ‘He hit me, Aich! I was just coming out of my room and there he was before me in the passage. I said, “Who are you?” and he hit me and ran away.'

‘Who dear, who?'

‘Tim! He's got away!' The words escaped Julia, and Eustace, who was dithering midway between both casualties, seized on them.

‘Who? Who?' he demanded. ‘Who was that man in here? What is going on? How did you all get here fully dressed? What is all this about and who – Good Heavens! Who are you, sir?'

The final question was addressed to a square man in a tight suit who had just stepped daintily into the room.

Sergeant Stockwell gave the scene a single comprehensive glance. He was delighted with himself and confidence oozed from him. He was also sufficiently human to be rather excited.

‘I'm the police, sir,' he said to Eustace. ‘The lady called to us out of the window. It's all right, we've got him. Somebody called out up here just as we came in and he came streaking down right into our arms. It's all right, he's in custody.'

‘Who? Who are you talking about? A burglar?' Eustace was roaring suddenly. His smooth face was damp and he was trembling.

‘His name is Leach, sir. At least that is what he's called. But it's all right. You just sit down for a minute while I see the damage.' He thrust Eustace firmly into the arm-chair under the window, turned towards the group on the floor, and dropped down gingerly on one knee. ‘That's good work, son,' he said. ‘Carry on. I'll get you some relief first thing.' He looked at Julia. ‘I wonder if you'd mind, miss? Slip along and tell the uniformed man that he's needed up here urgently. Is there a telephone on this floor?'

‘Yes, in my bedroom, just here.' Eustace bounced up again and seized the sergeant by the arm. ‘I want an explanation. This is my
house and I haven't the faintest idea what is going on. I want information from you.'

‘Yes, sir.' Stockwell was experienced. His manner though gentle was remarkably firm. ‘But what you want most, you know, whether you realize it or not, is a doctor, and if I can catch our police surgeon before he goes to bed he'll be here in a couple of minutes or so. He only lives round the corner. We must do everything we can, mustn't we? Even if it doesn't look very hopeful. Just lead the way to the telephone sir, please.'

As soon as Julia returned with a constable, Timothy, who was on the point of exhaustion, prepared to give over to him gratefully. The newcomer turned out to be a powerful youngster, fully trained and eager to help, and he stripped off his tunic at once. Meanwhile Nanny Broome was recovering from her initial panic and now seemed anxious to make up for any kudos she might have lost, by exerting her personality to the utmost. She took the policeman's helmet and placed it on a chair, and unfolded his tunic to shake it and fold it up again for him.

‘It was lack of air, that's what did it for him poor man,' she said unnecessarily. ‘As soon as I saw him I threw up the window and shouted to you. I'd been watching you all from the landing. You were on my mind.'

The constable was not listening to her. One look at the patient had convinced him of the seriousness of the situation and now he went round behind Tim, rolling up his sleeves, and set about making a careful take-over without upsetting the rhythm.

Tim extricated himself and got up wearily, to stand holding on to the bedpost. He was grey with mingled fatigue and dismay and his forehead was wrinkled like a hound's. ‘He's like a log,' he said, glancing over at Julia who was watching them helplessly. ‘How did he do it?' He bent down and touched the limp body and drew back again. ‘Someone has sent for a doctor, I suppose?'

‘I think so. They were telephoning from Eustace's room as I came past.' She paused for a moment and the room was quiet save for the steady pumping. ‘It's that dreadful colour. It's not quite like anything I've ever seen.'

‘He's poisoned himself with his own breath, I think. Something
like that. Keep at it for a minute or two, Constable. I'll take over when you want me to.' The constable nodded and continued his exercise, forcing the air in and out of the clogged lungs. Basil Toberman had ceased to be a person. His body had a new and terrible personality of its own, filling the room with its oppressive presence.

The night air streaming through the wide window brought all the far-off street noises which they had not noticed before, and its chill was mixed with a different cold which was settling into them as the first shock passed and they began to think again.

‘It's not possible,' Julia was beginning and was interrupted by Miss Aicheson who spoke with sudden petulance from the other side of the room.

‘Mrs. Broome, do come here a moment. Miss Alison's face is marked, see? Can you help me to take her to her room so we can at least bathe it?'

The new emergency seemed to have driven Basil Toberman completely out of her mind and she was both tenderly maternal and yet hopelessly shy and ineffectual in her concern for Alison, who might have been mortally wounded she was making such a fuss. The realization that she had no idea that anyone else was hurt occurred to both the young people as Nanny Broome bustled over to help her. She herself had recovered, almost, and her consequential little wriggle as she walked had returned. On the other hand Miss Aicheson appeared to be on the verge of going to pieces; she was at the stage of having to explain.

‘I was passing the door on my way to Alison's room with her book when I heard you shouting,' she said hoarsely as Mrs. Broome came up. ‘Why did you do that? Why did you call out of the window instead of trying to get the wretched man out of his damned bag?'

Mrs. Broome stared at her and they could see the question presenting itself for the first time. Her answer was spontaneous and clearly perfectly true.

‘I didn't know it was a bag,' she said frankly. ‘I didn't know what it was. There wasn't a lot of light and I wan't wearing glasses because I don't need them except for reading, and I thought
he'd somehow gone like that after all that drink. All liquid and awful.'

It was one of those frank statements of a familiar if idiotic state of mind. ‘He didn't look human and I lost my head and screamed the place down. I knew there were police outside and they were real so I called them.'

Julia ceased to listen to her and turned abruptly to Timothy. Her face was pale and her eyes enormous.

‘Somebody must have done it to him,' she said. ‘I've only just realized it. He couldn't have tucked the bed-clothes round his own neck after —' She left the rest of the sentence in the air.

‘It's all right, miss. The man has been taken. We got him downstairs.' The constable spoke without relaxing his steady work. He was breathless and the words came out explosively.

Timothy and Julia exchanged startled glanced and Timothy protested.

‘If you mean that chap we brought up here with us, that's utterly impossible.' The constable said nothing but he smiled, and Timothy looked blank.

‘I suppose they'll assume he did it,' he began.

‘If they do we can alibi him.' Julia dismissed the suggestion. ‘Tim! Basil mustn't
die
!'

The young man did not speak at once but looked down at the limp bundle and away again.

‘My God, I hope not,' he said earnestly. ‘Now we'll know.'

Sergeant Stockwell had returned bringing the doctor, who proved to be a slight man who was remarkably self-important.

He walked over to the group on the floor and after a cursory glance went over to the dressing-table to find a suitable resting place for his splendid leather box.

‘Very well,' he said over his shoulder as he unlocked it. ‘Now I want everybody out of the room at once please, except the constable. I don't care
where
you go, madam.' He threw the information at Miss Aicheson, who had opened her mouth but not yet spoken and had been about to ask him to look at Alison. ‘Downstairs, upstairs, wherever you like as long as it's out of here. I want to try to save this man's life and what I need is space and air. You
too!' he added to Julia, who was waiting her turn to move. ‘Outside everybody. As quickly as you can. Send me up another man Sergeant, please, and when your inspector arrives tell him where I am.'

‘Yes sir.' Stockwell glanced at Timothy and his left eyelid flickered. ‘I'd like everybody to come downstairs to the big room on the floor below this one. You lead the way, miss.' They trooped out and the doctor called after them. ‘Don't forget my second constable, Sergeant. This man is nearly all in.'

‘Very well, sir.' Stockwell spoke heartily, adding under his breath as they reached the passage, ‘I'll take one out of the box. They come in dozens.'

‘Alison must have her face bathed. He hit her, you see.'