Читать книгу Midnight House - Ethel Lina White - Страница 21

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She timed herself conscientiously, but she only got negative results. She was too excited to concentrate on the print because, once again, she was going to wear a dinner-gown.

Since Dr. Evans and Hartley Gull had become regular visitors to No. 10, the evening bridge was a standing engagement, but Elizabeth never came into contact with the card players, and had her supper in the nursery. This arrangement was due to the fact that the Pewters had no rigid time-table and ate all around the clock.

That evening she was distracted by the need to get the children to bed in good time. Unfortunately Phil had listened at the drawing-room door to her aunt's remarks about Maxine. She insisted virtuously on having her toenails cut before she remembered another neglected duty.

"That Maxine was too bone-lazy to make my Temple curls," she said solemnly.

Elizabeth grasped the fact that she referred to a film star style of hairdressing—"Early Shirley Temple." Instead of being content with six thick curls, she insisted on numerous screws of soft paper.

While his sister nearly drove Elizabeth crazy, Barney tried to break her heart by giving her no trouble. He undressed listlessly, mooning like a sleep-walker—his small face rigid with such misery that it explained his father's anger with Maxine. The telephone conversation seemed to have drained him, as though she were a leech preying on his youth.

The cook always left Elizabeth a meal in the kitchen, either in the frigidaire or the oven. She was about to run downstairs to get her tray when she was horrified to hear Gull's voice booming up from the hall.

His ultra-early arrival forced her to go without her meal and to dress in a hurry. Her black gown was a model and plain for its high price. When she looked at her reflection in the glass, she was so dissatisfied that she wished she could wear the dress inside-out—to display the maker's tab. Yet when she entered the drawing-room, from the moment he glanced at it, Hartley Gull seemed to accept her as official successor to Maxine.

He looked his best in a dinner-jacket and was aware of the fact. His broad shoulders and handsome face compelled the girl's admiration as he towered above her, while his polished black hair shone like ebony under the light. As he shook hands with her, his lips moved almost imperceptibly.

"White, next time," he whispered, as though he were a benevolent butler telling a slum-guest which fork to use.

She knew that his advice was sound and smiled her thanks as he turned to Geraldine.

"Is Miss Featherstonhaugh going to make a fourth?"

As Geraldine looked around vaguely, as though searching for a pompous stranger, Elizabeth seized the opportunity to explain. She resented the fact that the household had adopted the children's undignified title.

"He means me. Thank you, Mr. Gull, for remembering my name."

"Too slack of us—" began Geraldine. "Here's Evan."

Wearing a dark lounge-suit, the doctor looked deceptively young and unimpressive—almost like a youth not yet promoted to a dinner-jacket; but Elizabeth noticed the sudden light in Geraldine's eyes. Gull too evidently thought something should be done about it, for he crossed the room and stood beside his rival—looking down on him from his superior height.

The Captain—who used obvious phrases—commented on the contrast in a whisper to Elizabeth.

"The long and short of it. Both strong characters. Which would you back for a winner?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "Both would force you to take your medicine. But Mr. Gull would give it in jam and the doctor would only pinch your nose."

The Captain grinned and then frowned.

"Well, I hope she'll pull in the right man. My kid sister is one of the very best."

Elizabeth nodded as she looked at the elder woman. Geraldine wore a maize velvet gown which matched her blonde colouring. She was stimulated by the rivalry of the men to a glow of conquest which animated her face and deepened her blue eyes to violet.

It seemed strange and rather sad to Elizabeth that—at the age of nineteen—she was a spectator of a middle-aged romance. She realised a further disappointment when the doctor made his apologies.

"Sorry. My secretary has fixed me up. I can only stay for a few minutes."

Then he turned to the Captain with a question.

"What do the police think about the murder, Pewter? I saw you talking to the Chief Constable yesterday."

"I think we might find a pleasanter topic," cut in Gull with a significant glance at Elizabeth.

"Nervous?" the doctor asked her casually.

"Of course not," she replied quickly.

"Well, I am," said Gull. "I'm afraid I might be mistaken for a fine girl and scragged."

"We are not likely to forget your fine physique, Gull," remarked the doctor. "After all these interruptions, Pewter, do you remember my original question?"

"About the murder?" asked the Captain who had been twinkling over the sparring-match. "Oh, yes. I think it is general knowledge that the police are up against lack of motive."

"Unless they can establish that," said the doctor, speaking with authority, "the inference is that the crime was committed by some irresponsible person. In that case, they'll never get their man."

"Why not?" asked Geraldine. "Haven't they a tab on all the local mental and border-line cases?"

"I can assure you they've been thorough. I'm one of their victims. But they've drawn a blank. So unless they can establish a motive, we are threatened with a split-personality... That means that any one—from the Bishop downward—could have committed the crime."

"No, not my idea of night-life," murmured Gull, grinning at Geraldine.

He sat down at the neglected card table and began to play patience. But he attracted no notice as every one was engrossed by the murder.

"I read the victim was a local woman," said Geraldine. "Did you know her, Evan?"

"As a patient," replied the doctor. "She was about my own age and I used to dance with her at the public balls. Rather pretty but uninteresting. No one could want to murder her."

"Then it's elementary," said Geraldine impatiently. "It was mistaken identity. The police should check up on the local women who have grey squirrel coats. There can't be many of them in a smallish town."

The Captain laughed at his sister.

"The police also had a touch of womanly intuition," he said. "They've established the fact that no local squirrel lady could be mistaken for Mrs. Davis—back view. They are all the wrong build. Besides, there could be no motive for bumping off any of them either."

As she listened, Elizabeth began to feel chilly, in spite of the torrid temperature. This loose chatter was reconstructing the crime and establishing it definitely as a mystery-murder. It gave horrible significance to a racing black shadow which Barney also had seen—and repudiated.

Why? Had he recognised it?

As she asked herself the question, she noticed that the doctor was staring at her as though his will could expose her thoughts on her face.

"I'm responsible for a touching episode in connection with that coat," he told them. "It appears Mrs. Davis had a collection of fur coats—the token of successful married life. Lately she'd been yearning for a squirrel. Her husband shelled out the money for her to get one in London, on her way down to Rivermead... When he came to identify the body, I suggested she should be buried in the coat—or rather cremated. The poor fellow was in a highly emotional state. He cried and said how glad he was she had her last wish gratified."

Evans's smile hardened as he went on to explain his motive.

"Commonsense, although it sounded like sentiment. He couldn't give it to any of his girls. And he couldn't sell it. What woman would wear a coat in which another woman had been murdered?"

While the doctor was talking, Gull appeared interested only in his cards. It was evident he resented being an outsider when he assumed a commanding position before the fire.

"Did the police know that?" he asked.

"I believe not," replied the doctor.

"Well, your advice probably destroyed valuable evidence. But did I hear you say the lady's husband was cut up?"

"Very cut up."

"In fact—minced... As I guessed. Now I'll give you the name of the murderer. Pewter, tell your copper friend to check the alibi of the worthy Mr. Davis. It is sound policy to distrust these broken-hearted widowers."

It was a moment of intense social discomfort, since every one realised that an outsize in bricks had been dropped. Yet as Gull glared at the doctor, Elizabeth felt instinctively that their hatred had old and twisted roots.

The flash of the doctor's anger blew off like the head of a match, and he spoke in his usual modulated voice.

"You are lucky, Gull, because your experience is incomplete. As Pewter and I both know only too well, the average man is liable to feel grief when his wife dies."

"Oh, my dear fellows—Not for a moment—I never meant—"

"That's all right, Gull. In my case, your suspicions could be doubled, as I inherited my wife's money."

The doctor glanced at his watch—compared it with the clock—and sauntered to the door.

"I'll see you off the premises," offered Geraldine.

When the pair went out of the room, it was significant that the remaining three waited in silence for the slam of the front door. As the minutes passed, Gull accepted the implication of a protracted parting in the hall. Turning to Elizabeth, he shot out a question.

"What do you think of the mighty atom?"

As he puffed at his cigar, Gull looked important and a trifle larger than life-size—rather like a financial magnate who was reading his future by the tape. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, his angry face suggested Barney to Elizabeth. Things were wrong with some small boy—and he wanted reassurance.

"My grandmother would say, 'Still waters run deep,'" she said.

"And your grandfather would say, 'Still waters stink and should be dredged,'" remarked Gull.

As he spoke, Geraldine returned. Her face was flushed and she smoothed back her hair self-consciously.

"Well, bridge is off," she said. "What, Hartley?"

"The Club."

"We can't leave Miss Feathers alone."

"Why not? No servants?"

"Yes, but they're dailies and won't sleep in. I sacked the other lot because I thought they must be in with Maxine."

"But why the dickens should Miss Feathers be afraid to stay here alone?" asked the Captain.

"She's not," declared Elizabeth.

Her ears were sharp, for—after the others had gone into the hall, she heard Gull's comment, through the closed door.

"She's a change from your last lovely. All she needs is a nice motherly governess to tell her as much as a nice girl need know. You can certainly pick them, Geraldine."

"Rot," said Geraldine. "She's a sensible kid for her age."

"But will you keep her? Isn't she scared of this murder?"

"If she is,"—the Captain's voice was loud and determined—"out she goes. I can't risk the boy's nerves."

"And now I know," murmured Elizabeth to herself.