Читать книгу Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 7: Off With His Head, Singing in the Shrouds, False Scent - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 31

When they had finished their lunch, of which Camilla ate next to nothing and Mrs Bünz, who normally had an enormous appetite, not much more, they sat vis-à-vis by the parlour fire and found very little to say to each other. Camilla was acutely conscious of Simon Begg and, in particular, of Ralph Stayne, consuming their counter lunches in the Public Bar. Camilla had dismissed Ralph with difficulty when Mrs Bünz came in. Now she was in a rose-coloured flutter only slightly modified by the recurrent horror of her grandfather’s death. From time to time, gentle Camilla reproached herself with heartlessness and as often as she attempted this pious exercise the memory of Ralph’s kisses made nonsense of her scruples.

In the midst of her preoccupations she noticed that Mrs Bünz was much quieter than usual and seemed, in some indefinable way, to have diminished in size. She noticed, too, that Mrs Bünz had a monstrous cold, characterized by heavy catarrhal noises of a most irritating nature. In addition to making these noises, Mrs Bünz sighed very often and kept moving her shoulders uneasily as if her clothes prickled them.

Trixie came round occasionally from the Public Bar into the Private. It was Trixie who had been entrusted by Alleyn with the message that the police would be obliged if Mrs Bünz and Miss Campion would keep the early afternoon free.

‘Which was exactly the words he used,’ Trixie said. ‘A proper gentleman if a policeman, and a fine deep voice, moreover, with a powerful kind of smack in it.’

This was not altogether reassuring.

Mrs Bünz said unexpectedly: ‘It is not pleasant to be told to await the police. I do not care for policemen. My dear husband and I were anti-Nazi. It is better to avoid such encounters.’

Camilla, seeing a look of profound anxiety in Mrs Bünz’s eyes, said: ‘It’s all right, Mrs Bünz. They’re here to take care of us. That’s what we keep them for. Don’t worry.’

‘Ach!’ Mrs Bünz said, ‘you are a child. The police do not look after anybody. They make investigations and arrests. They are not sympathetic. Dar,’ she added, making one of her catarrhal noises.

It was upon this sombre note that Inspector Fox came in to say that if Miss Campion had finished her luncheon Mr Alleyn would be very pleased to have a word with her.

Camilla told herself it was ridiculous to feel nervous but she continued to do so. She followed the enormous bulk of Mr Fox down the narrow passage. Her throat became dry and her heart thumped. ‘Why?’ she thought. ‘What have I got to get flustered about? This is ridiculous.’

Fox opened the door into the little sitting-room and said: ‘Miss Campion, Mr Alleyn.’ He beamed at Camilla and stepped aside for her. She walked in and was immeasurably relieved to find her friend Dr Otterly. Beyond him, at the far side of a table, was a tall dark man who stood up politely as she came in.

‘Ah!’ Dr Otterly said, ‘here’s Camilla.’

Alleyn came round the table and Camilla found herself offering him her hand as if they had been introduced at a party.

‘I hope,’ he said, ‘you don’t mind giving us a few minutes.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Camilla, ‘I mean, no.’

Alleyn pushed forward a chair.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘it won’t be as bad as all that, and Dr Otterly’s here to see fair play. The watchword is “routine”.

Camilla sat down. Like a good drama student, she did it beautifully without looking at the chair. ‘If I could pretend this was a mood-and-movement exercise,’ she thought, ‘I’d go into it with a good deal more poise.’

Alleyn said: ‘We’re checking the order of events before and during the Dance of the Five Sons. You were there, weren’t you, for the whole time? Would you be very patient and give us an account of it? From your point of view.’

‘Yes, of course. As well as I can. I don’t expect I’ll be terribly good.’

‘Let’s see, anyway,’ he suggested comfortably. ‘Now, here goes.’

Her account tallied in every respect with what he had already been told. Camilla found it easier than she would have expected and hadn’t gone very far before she had decided with correct professional detachment that Alleyn had ‘star quality’.

When she arrived at the point where Simon Begg as ‘Crack’, the hobby horse, did his improvisation, Camilla hesitated for the first time and turned rather pink.

‘Ah, yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘That was the tar-baby thing after the first general entrance, wasn’t it? What exactly is “Crack’s” act with the tar?’

‘It’s all rather ham, I’m afraid,’ Camilla said grandly. ‘Folkseyhokum.’ She turned a little pinker still and then said honestly: ‘I expect it isn’t really. I expect it’s quite interesting but I didn’t much relish it because he came thundering after me and, for some ridiculous reason, I got flustered.’

‘I’ve seen the head. Enough to fluster anybody in that light, I should imagine.’

‘It did me, anyway. And I wasn’t all that anxious to have my best ski-ing trousers ruined. So I ran. It came roaring after me. I couldn’t get away because of all the people. I felt kind of cornered and faced it. Its body swung up – it hangs from a frame, you know. I could see his legs: he was wearing lightish coloured trousers.’

‘Was he?’ Alleyn said with interest.

‘Yes. Washed-out cords. Almost white. He always wears them. It was silly,’ Camilla said, ‘to be rattled. Do you know I actually yelled. Wasn’t it shaming? In front of all those village oafs.’ She checked herself. ‘I don’t mean that. I’m half village myself and I dare say that’s why I yelled. Anyway I did.’

‘And then?’

‘Well,’ Camilla said, half laughing, ‘well then I kind of made a bee-line for the Betty and that was all right because it was Ralph Stayne, who’s not at all frightening.’

‘Good,’ Alleyn said, smiling at her. ‘And he coped with the situation, did he?’

‘He was just the job. Masterful type: or he would have been if he hadn’t looked so low comedy. Anyway, I took refuge in his bombasine bosom and “Crack” sort of sloped off.’

‘Where to?’

‘He went sort of cavorting and frisking out at the back and everybody laughed. Actually, Begg does get pretty well into the skin of that character,’ Camilla said with owlish professionalism.

Alleyn led her through the rest of the evening and was told nothing that he hadn’t already heard from Dr Otterly. It was oddly touching to see how Camilla’s natural sprightliness faltered as she approached the moment of violence in her narrative. It seemed to Alleyn she was still so young that her spirit danced away from any but the most immediate and direct shock. ‘She’s vulnerable only to greenstick fracture of the emotion,’ he thought. But, as they reached the point when her grandfather failed to reappear and terror came upon the five sons, Camilla turned pale and pressed her hands together between her knees.

‘I didn’t know in the slightest what had happened, of course. It was queer. One sort of felt there was something very much amiss and yet one didn’t exactly know, one felt it. Even when Dan called them and they all went and looked – I – it was so silly, but I think I sort of wondered if he’d just gone away.’

‘Ah!’ Alleyn said quickly. ‘So he could have gone away during the dance and you mightn’t have noticed?’

Dr Otterly sighed ostentatiously.

‘Well – no,’ Camilla said. ‘No, I’m sure he couldn’t. It would have been quite impossible. I was standing right over on the far side and rather towards the back of the stage. About OP second entrance, if you know where that is.’

Alleyn said he did. ‘So you actually could see behind the stone?’

‘Sort of,’ Camilla agreed and added in a worried voice:

‘I must stop saying “sort of”. Ralph says I do it all the time. Yes, I could see behind the stone.’

‘You could see him lying there?’

She hesitated, frowning. ‘I saw him crouch down after the end of the dance. He sat there for a moment, and then lay down. When he lay down, he – I mean I really couldn’t see him. I expect that was the idea. He meant to hide. I think he must have been in a bit of a hollow. So I’d have noticed like anything if he’d got up.’

‘Or, for the sake of argument, if anybody had offered him any kind of violence?’

‘Good heavens, yes!’ she said, as if he’d suggested the ridiculous. ‘Of course.’

‘What happened immediately after he sank out of sight? At the end of the dance?’

‘They made a stage picture. The Sons had drawn their swords out of the lock. “Crack” stood behind the stone looking like a sort of idol. Ralph stood on the prompt side and the Sons separated. Two of them stood on one side, near me, and two on the other, and the fifth, the Whiffler – I knew afterwards it was Ernie – wandered away by himself. Ralph went round with the collecting thing and then Ralph snatched Ernie’s sword away and they had a chase. Ralph’s got rather a nice sense of comedy, actually. He quite stole the show. I remember “Crack” was behind the dolmen about then so he ought to be able to tell you if there was anything – anything – wrong –’

‘Yes. What did he do while he was there?’

‘Nothing. He just stood. Anyway,’ Camilla said rapidly, ‘he couldn’t do anything much, could he, in that harness? Nothing – nothing that would –’

‘No,’ Alleyn said, ‘he couldn’t. What did he do, in fact?’

‘Well, he sort of played up to Ralph and Ernie. He gave a kind of falsetto neigh, and he went off at the back.’

‘Yes? And then?’

‘Then Ralph pretended to hide. He crouched down behind a heap of rubble and he’d still got Ernie’s sword. And Ernie went off-stage looking for him.’

‘You’re sure all this is in the right order?’

‘I think so. One looked at it in terms of theatre,’ said Camilla. ‘So, of course, one wouldn’t forget.’

‘No,’ Alleyn agreed with careful gravity, ‘one wouldn’t, would one. And then?’

‘Then Uncle Dan did his solo and I rather think that was when the bonfire flared up.’ She looked at Dr Otterly. ‘Do you?’

‘It was then. I was playing “Lord Mardian’s Fancy,” which is Dan’s tune.’

‘Yes. And Ralph came out of his hiding-place and went off at the back. He must have returned his sword to Ernie and walked round behind the wall because he came on at the O.P. entrance. I call it “O.P.” ’

‘Precisely.’

‘And I think, at about the same time, Ernie and “Crack” must have come back together through the centre entrance at the back.’

‘And Ernie had got his sword?’

‘Yes, he had. I remember thinking: “So Ralph’s given him back his sword,” and anyway, I’d noticed that Ralph hadn’t got it any longer.’

Camilla had a very direct way of looking at people. She looked now straight at Alleyn and frowned a little. Then, a curious thing happened to her face. It turned ashen white without changing its expression. ‘About the sword,’ she said. ‘About the sword –?’

‘Yes?’

‘It wasn’t – it couldn’t have been – could it?’

‘There’s no saying,’ Alleyn said gently, ‘what the weapon was. We’re just clearing the ground, you know.’

‘But it couldn’t. No. Nobody went near with the sword. I swear nobody went near. I swear.’

‘Do you? Well, that’s a very helpful thing for us to know.’

Dr Otterly said: ‘I do, too, you know, Alleyn.’

Camilla threw a look of agonized gratitude at him and Alleyn thought: ‘Has she already learnt at her drama school to express the maximum of any given emotion at any given time? Perhaps, but she hasn’t learned to turn colour in six easy lessons. She was frightened, poor child, and now she’s relieved and it’s pretty clear to me she’s fathoms deep in love with Master Stayne.’

He offered Camilla a cigarette and moved round behind her as he struck a match for it.

‘Dr Otterly,’ he said, ‘I wonder if you’d be terribly kind and ring up Yowford about the arrangements there? I’ve only just thought of it, fool that I am. Fox will give you the details. Sorry to be such a bore.’

He winked atrociously at Dr Otterly, who opened his mouth and shut it again.

‘There, now!’ said Mr Fox, ‘and I’d meant to remind you. ’T, ’t, ’t! Shall we fix it up, now, Doctor? No time like the present.’

‘Come back,’ Alleyn said, ‘when it’s all settled, won’t you?’

Dr Otterly looked fixedly at him, smiled with constraint upon Camilla and suffered Mr Fox to shepherd him out of the room.

Alleyn sat down opposite Camilla and helped himself to a cigarette.

‘All wrong on duty,’ he said, ‘but there aren’t any witnesses. You won’t write a complaint to the Yard, will you?’

‘No,’ Camilla said and added: ‘Did you send them away on purpose?’

‘How did you guess?’ Alleyn asked admiringly.

‘It had all the appearance of a piece of full-sized hokum.’

‘Hell, how shaming! Never mind, I’ll press on. I sent them away because I wanted to ask you a personal question and, having no witnesses makes it unofficial. I wanted to ask you if you were about to become engaged to be married.’

Camilla choked on her cigarette.

‘Come on,’ Alleyn said. ‘Do tell me, like a nice comfortable child.’

‘I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.’

‘Can’t you make up your mind?’

‘There’s no reason that I can see,’ Camilla said, with a belated show of spirit, ‘why I should tell you anything at all about it.’

‘Nor there is, if you’d rather not.’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘It makes it easier to talk to people,’ Alleyn said, ‘if you know about their preoccupations. A threatened engagement is a major preoccupation, as you will allow and must admit.’

‘All right,’ Camilla said. ‘I’ll tell you. I’m not engaged but Ralph wants us to be.’

‘And you? Come,’ Alleyn said, answering the brilliant look she suddenly gave him. ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not as easy as all that.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘You see, my mother was Bess Andersen. She was the feminine counterpart of Dan and Andy and Chris and Nat, and talked and thought like them. She was their sister. I loved my mother,’ Camilla said fiercely, ‘with all my heart. And my father, too. We should have been a happy family, and, in a way, we were, in our attachment for each other. But my mother wasn’t really happy. All her life she was homesick for South Mardian and she never learned to fit in with my father’s setting. People tell you differences of that sort don’t matter any more. Not true. They matter like hell.’

‘And that’s the trouble?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Anything more specific?’

‘Look,’ Camilla said, ‘forgive my asking, but did you get on in the Force by sheer cheek or sheer charm or what?’

‘Tell me your trouble,’ Alleyn said, ‘and I’ll tell you my success story. Of course, there’s your pride, isn’t there?’

‘All right. Yes. And there’s also the certainty of the past being rehashed by the more loathsome daily newspapers in the light of this ghastly crime. I don’t know,’ Camilla burst out, ‘how I can think of Ralph and I am thinking all the time of him, after what has happened.’

‘But why shouldn’t you think of him?’

‘I’ve told you. Ralph’s a South Mardian man. His mother was a Mardian. His aunt was jilted by my papa when he ran away with my mum. My Mardian relations are the Andersen boys. If Ralph married me, there’d be hell to pay. Every way there’d be hell. He’s Dame Alice’s heir, after his aunt, and, although I agree that doesn’t matter so much – he’s a solicitor and able to make his own way – she’d undoubtedly cut him off.’

‘I wonder. Talking of wills, by the way, do you know if your grandfather made one?’

Camilla caught back her breath. ‘Oh, God!’ she whispered. ‘I hope not. Oh, I hope not.’

Alleyn waited.

‘He talked about it,’ Camilla said, ‘last time I saw him. Four days ago. We had a row about it.’

‘If you’d rather not tell me, you needn’t.’

‘I said I wouldn’t touch a penny of his money, ever, and that, if he left me any, I’d give it to the Actors’ Benevolent Fund. That rocked him.’

‘He’d spoken of leaving you something?’

‘Yes. Sort of back-handedly. I didn’t understand, at first. It was ghastly. As if I’d come here to – ugh! – to sort of worm my way into his good books. Too frightful it was.’

‘The day before yesterday,’ Alleyn said, watching her, ‘he visited his solicitors in Biddlefast.’

‘He did? Oh, my goodness me, how awful. Still, perhaps it was about something else.’

‘The solicitors are Messrs Stayne and Stayne.’

‘That’s Ralph’s office,’ Camilla said instantly. ‘How funny. Ralph didn’t say anything about it.’

‘Perhaps,’ Alleyn suggested lightly, ‘it was a secret.’

‘What do you mean?’ she said quickly.

‘A professional secret.’

‘I see.’

‘Is Mr Ralph Stayne your own solicitor, Miss Campion?’

‘Lord, no,’ Camilla said. ‘I haven’t got one.’

The door opened and a dark young man, wearing a face of thunder, strode into the room.

He said in a magnificent voice: ‘I consider it proper and appropriate for me to be present at any interviews Miss Campion may have with the police.’

‘Do you?’ Alleyn said mildly. ‘In what capacity?’

‘As her solicitor.’

‘My poorest heavenly old booby!’ Camilla ejaculated, and burst into peals of helpless laughter.

‘Mr Ralph Stayne,’ Alleyn said, ‘I presume.’