The Saltmarsh Murders (25 page)

Mrs. Bradley cackled, and patted me ironically on the back.

I talked things over with Daphne again that night when the others had gone to bed. Suddenly she got jumpy and said she could hear something outside the window. I laughed and said it was only a rose tapping against the glass. She said it was not. I went to the window and drew aside the curtain. A face was pressed against the glass. I suppose I gave an exclamation. I know I was rather startled. Daphne screamed. Old Coutts came tearing downstairs to see what was up. Together we went to the front door, and called out to know who was there. Daphne was just behind us. She would not stay in the room alone.

It was Foster Washington Yorke. The thought that a murder had taken place in the Bungalow had proved too much for the poor chap. He had come to the vicarage for shelter. We hardly knew what to do. In the end, I had to have young William in my room and we gave the negro a camp bed in William's room. A bit thick on me, of course, and the whole incident had not exactly strengthened Daphne's nervous system, but the poor black was in such a state of frenzy that we thought it best to humour him and send him back in the morning.

I woke up once in the night, and, the partition wall being thin, I could hear him softly moaning and praying. The poor fellow must have been in the dickens of a state. It was rather dreadful to think what he must be going through. One conclusion which I came to was that it was useless and ridiculous to suspect him of the murder. He would never have had the nerve for it. It was a comfort to think that there was some other male in Saltmarsh besides myself who would not have had the nerve to commit the murder of Cora McCanley.

A
t this interesting juncture, Mrs. Gatty decided to start her games again. It must have been frightfully disheartening for Mrs. Bradley, of course. The first inkling we received at the Vicarage of Mrs. Gatty's lapse was by word of mouth from William Coutts.

“I say,” said William, bursting into the dining room where Daphne, and I, during the enforced absence—thank heaven!—of Mrs. Coutts at a Bazaar Committee Meeting, and of the old man at a local football match, were working out colour schemes and furnishings from a Maple's catalogue—” the old dame's broken loose again. We've been chasing her all over Saltmarsh. She's got hold of an ox-goad and she's prodded old Brown in the seat with it!”

“What old dame?” said I, thinking wildly of Mrs. Bradley.

“Mrs. Gatty,” said William. He was flushed, dirty, of course, and grinning. “She thinks she's a sanitary inspector now, and she's going round condemning all the ash-pits.”

“A sanitary inspector?” I said.

“Rather,” said William. “And she told old Lowry at the pub that he kept his coals in the bath. She
wouldn't go away until he'd taken her along and proved that he didn't.” William chuckled. “I suppose just because the bathroom the Lowrys use for themselves is on the ground floor—well,
of course
they have to let the visitors use the upstairs ones!—she thinks the Lowrys don't wash. So old Lowry informed her that he lies and soaks for about two hours at a time and Mrs. Lowry bore him out. So Mrs. Gatty's given him a certificate of purity signed William Ewart Gladstone, and old Lowry says he's going to frame it. She's going round now demanding to look at everybody's ears to see whether they wash them!” He whooped with extreme joy. “I hope she asks to see Aunt Caroline's ears!”

Daphne was not smiling.

“I say, Noel,” she said, in a troubled voice, “it's rather awful, isn't it? I mean, she was a bit funny before, but that awful Mrs. Bradley seems to have made her worse!”

Well, honestly, it did seem like it. Even the murders paled into insignificance before Mrs. Gatty's latest exploits. Her old mania of comparing people with animals returned with renewed force. She waited until Burt was stuck, trying to get Daphne's kitten out of our apple tree, and then she planted a bun on the ferrule of her umbrella and offered it to him and called him a brown bear. She informed Margaret Kingston-Fox that she was a shy-eyed delicate deer, and insisted upon referring to old Burns the financier as Lady Clare. She offered him a chrysanthemum to put in his hair because the season for roses was past. If it had been anybody but Mrs. Gatty, one would have said
that our legs were being pulled. But, of course, we knew Mrs. Gatty of old. She dogged me, for instance, all over the the village one morning, bleating like a sheep, and informed me, at the top of her voice, and to the great entertainment of a crowd of schoolchildren—it was Saturday, of course—that I had changed for the better. As, before this, she had always compared me with a goat, not a sheep, I presume that some kind of scriptural allusion was intended. I escaped by taking to my heels, pursued by the shouts of the children and Mrs. Gatty's insane bleating.

I met Mrs. Bradley later—on the following Monday—and commiserated with her on the failure of the cure. She cackled, as usual, and informed me that there was no doubt Candy would be released. He would probably have to undergo a medical examination, she told me.

“And now,” she continued, blandly, “I am ready to lecture for you, Noel, my dear.”

I looked rather surprised, I expect. I remembered having once given her the gist of one of my lectures—the one on Sir Robert Walpole, if I remember rightly—but, try as I would, I could not recollect having asked her to lecture to us. Still, I supposed that, in a moment of mental aberration, I must have done so; therefore I coughed to break the rather dead silence which had followed her announcement, and expressed my pleasure, thanks and gratification as heartily as I could.

“When?” I said, trembling inwardly, of course.

“When do you hold your meetings?” she demanded. It was Monday, as I say, when she asked. Oh, yes, of course it was Monday. Bob Candy was
returned to Saltmarsh, the hero of the hour, on the following Friday, and was sent off to Kent, with the barmaid Mabel and Mabel's brother Sidney, to recuperate at Mrs. Bradley's expense. The idea was for a friend of Mrs. Bradley—a Kentish landowner—to find him a job later on. This was done, by the way, and Bob's story ended happily, so far as I know.

“The lectures are on Wednesdays,” I replied. She beamed.

“Wednesday week, then, dear child.”

“And the—er—the subject?” I stuttered, hoping, of course, for the best.

“Ah, the subject,” said Mrs. Bradley, looking a bit dashed. “Of course. Yes. The subject.” She brightened. “How do you think they would like to hear me on ‘Ego and Libido ‘?”

I choked a bit, swallowing it, and passed a humid forefinger round the inside of the dog-collar.

“Ah, well, perhaps not. It's really rather elementary,” she said. “What about ‘Pride and Prejudice in their Relationship to Racial Health ‘?”

“Well, er——” I said desperately.

“Well, look here,” said Mrs. Bradley. “We'll leave it until to-morrow. I'll get up something, never fear.”

“They aren't awfully easily interested, you know,” I said, feebly. “I mean, we generally have lantern slides, and even then they hoot and raise catcalls sometimes, and I
have
known them to chuck things at the screen.”

“Ah, I couldn't have that,” said Mrs. Bradley. She paused. “Does the vicar turn up?” she asked. (Well, he doesn't, of course.)

“He will for
your
lecture, I have no doubt,” I said, hoping, again, for the best.

“And Mrs. Coutts?” said Mrs. Bradley.

“I'll rake her in,” I said, hurriedly.

“And I myself will get Edwy David Burt to come along, and I think we ought to have Sir William and Mr. Bransome Burns——”

“He's staying rather a long time at the Manor House, isn't he?” I asked; rather rudely, of course, for it was none of my business how long Sir William kept his guests. Mrs. Bradley laughed like a hyena.

“So am I staying rather a long time, dear child,” she pointed out. She poked me in the ribs.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, sheering off a pace or two. I blushed. Rather a brick, of course. But, really, I had become so much accustomed to her presence in and about the village that I had forgotten that she was, in that sense, Sir William's guest.

“Never mind, dear child,” she said gaily. “We meet at Philippi.”

I broke the news of the lecture to the members of the vicarage household at tea that evening. Their reactions were characteristic, of course. Old Coutts grinned ruefully.

“I suppose I must turn up and help keep order,” he said.

“We'd better start with a tea, or else we shan't get anybody, and that would be frightfully awkward for the poor old dear,” said Daphne, who, of course, is full of the milk of human kindness and drips it about rather after the manner of a punctured cocoanut—that is to say, where it is neither expected nor desired.

“Don't you worry,” said William sturdily. “They'll come, if it's only to throw eggs. She's been talking to some of 'em about the way they bring up their bally offspring.”

“William!” said Mrs. Coutts, sharply.

“Well, anyway, she has!” said William defiantly. “What's she going to talk about, Noel?”

“Well, that's just the point,” I said, weakly. Mrs. Coutts sat up very straight and parked the tea-pot, with which she had been about to fill my cup, on its parent china stand.

“You understand,” she said, with frightful venom, “I hold you responsible.”

I didn't get this at first.

“Eh?” I said, with my winning smile.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Coutts, “if That Woman speaks upon an Indelicate Topic, I shall hold you personally responsible. So mind!” She picked up the tea-pot and cascaded the brew into my cup.

“Hello,” said William, opening his eyes wide, “has she been talking to you, too, Aunt, about bringing up kids?”

“Go out of the room, William!” thundered old Coutts. William, hastily snatching a chunk of bread and butter, went.

“Really,” I said, “I think—don't you think—I mean, you're a bit premature, Mrs. Coutts. After all, why should she talk about anything peculiar? Besides, I am sure that Mrs. Bradley would never dream of lecturing upon any topic which is—well, not lecturable upon.”

I tried the winning smile again, but it came unstuck
half-way. I don't know why. I mean, I'm not
afraid
of Mrs. Coutts. Daphne came to my rescue.

“You can always rise and protest, Aunt,” she said austerely, “if you don't approve of the lecture.”

“Quite, quite,” said old Coutts, rising from the table. Mrs. Coutts stacked up the tray in frightful silence, and waited rather pointedly for my cup. I got up and rang the bell. When tea was cleared, Mrs. Coutts hopped it to the Girls' Guildry and Daphne and I collared cake out of the sideboard and went in search of William.

At intervals during the next day I tried in vain to get from Mrs. Bradley the subject of her lecture. She would tell me nothing definite. All she would do was to hint that the lecture would certainly draw crowds if I would fix up, in place of the usual notice, a card indicating that a Mystery Lecture would be given by Mrs. Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, in the Village Hall at 9.0 p.m. on the Wednesday week.

“But we always start at seven-thirty. You see, we wash out the Women's Prayer Meeting and Devotional on lecture nights,” I said. She waved all that aside.

“We have dinner just before that,” she said. “Surely, dear child, you are not suggesting that I miss my dinner?”

“No, of course not,” I said, “but isn't nine o'clock rather the other extreme?”

“No,” said Mrs. Bradley. “It must be quite dark while my lecture is going on. The hall must be dark, and it must be pitch dark outside.”

“But we can draw the blinds and things,” I pointed out. “We always do darken the hall for lantern
lectures. By the way, do you want somebody to manage the slides for you?”

She shook her head.

“There is only one slide,” she said. “It can be fixed at the commencement of the lecture and left until the end.”

I began to regret that I had not put my foot down and boldly refused her offer to lecture. We usually get a sprinkling of youths from other villages at our lectures and they are apt to be a nuisance. Our best chance, I thought, was to fill the hah. with as many of our own people as we could. To this end, I spent the Wednesday morning in going round the village soliciting promises of attendance at the lecture. As it happened, the notice had tickled the fancy of some of our people, and even Burt announced his intention of being present.

“And I'll have to bring my nigger with me,” he said. “Hanged if I can get the coon to stay in the house alone for a single instant, since he spent the night at your place. I can't think what's the matter with the fellow. He misses Cora, you know. That's about the fact of it. These blighters are like dogs for that. Besides, Mrs. Gatty has been round frightening him. Is she quite mad?”

So on the Wednesday evening at about ten minutes to nine, the front rows of the village hall were filled with a fairly complete collection of the local nobs and semi-nobs. There were Sir William and Margaret and Bransome Burns, the Gattys, our vicarage party, except William who had been sent to bed, and Mrs. Coutts who was remaining indoors to see that he stayed there, the doctor and his wife and two daughters, Burt,
and quite a sprinkling of the more respectable element of the village and most of the servants from the hall, the pub and the Moat House. At the back were the people whom our weekly winter efforts were really intended to benefit—the louts, mutts and hobbledehoys of our own village and the neighbouring hamlets. In short, the hall was about three-quarters full.

At nine o'clock precisely, Mrs. Bradley mounted the rostrum and commenced her lecture. She had asked particularly that the hall might be in complete darkness except for the light of the magic lantern, so that we could not see her, we could only hear her really beautiful voice coming across out of the void, so to speak. There was dead silence when she began. Except for occasional gasps and whistles of surprise and an exclamation from a rather hysterical servant girl, and Mrs. Gatty's absurd interruption and somebody popping out quietly towards the end, there was complete silence until the great thrill. She waited until all the lights were extinguished, and her one lantern slide, a plan of Saltmarsh and the surrounding country, had been thrown on to the screen, before she began her remarks. Then she said: