The Mystery at Underwood House (An Angela Marchmont Mystery) Page 6

  ‘How should I know? If everyone says so then it must be true. I haven’t given the matter much thought.’

  ‘I understand he was unable to swim.’

  ‘That’s what Mother said. I dare say she’s right.’

  ‘Does he have an opinion of his own?’ said Angela to herself. Aloud, she went on: ‘Did you see him go out that night?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We all did.’

  ‘Did you know he had left the house?’

  ‘No, I hadn’t the slightest idea of it.’

  ‘Did you go outside yourself that evening?’

  ‘Go outdoors in the middle of the night in February? Not I!’

  ‘Very well,’ said Angela, seeing that he could not or would not say anything about his father’s death, ‘I am also trying to find out what happened to Philippa and Winifred. According to Louisa, when Winifred fell over the balustrade and everybody rushed into the hall, you and Donald Haynes arrived on the scene first—indeed, you were found bending over the body.’

  Robin inhaled sharply and glared at her.

  ‘And if I was? What are you suggesting? She was my aunt. Why shouldn’t I tend to her when she had just suffered a terrible accident? Anyone would have done the same.’

  ‘Oh dear, I seem to have started off rather badly,’ thought Angela. ‘Forgive me,’ she said to Robin. ‘I expressed myself clumsily just then. I merely wanted to know whether you saw what happened.’

  ‘No, I didn’t see what happened. Nobody did, as far as I know.’

  ‘Where were you when she fell?’

  He waved a hand.

  ‘Somewhere about. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Are you sure of that? Presumably you heard her fall, or you would not have run to her as quickly as you did. Try and think, Mr. Haynes.’

  ‘Well then, I suppose I was in the library. Yes—yes, that’s where I was.’

  ‘And you heard a cry and the sound of something landing heavily?’

  He winced and nodded.

  ‘Yes. She was lying on the floor. When I knelt over her I saw that her head was at a funny angle. I could see immediately that there was nothing to be done. I have delicate nerves, and I’m afraid I was rather sick.’

  ‘Who arrived first on the scene, you or Donald?’

  Robin clicked his tongue impatiently.

  ‘I really can’t remember. Does it matter?’

  ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I can’t say at the moment.’

  ‘Well—’ he paused. ‘I think Don got there before me. Yes, I’m sure of it. I ran out of the library and he was already there.’

  ‘What was he doing?’

  ‘Just standing there, looking shocked and breathing hard. He was awfully white in the face—as was I, I should imagine.’

  ‘Did you see anybody else? Upstairs, for example?’

  ‘Don’t you think I should have mentioned it if I had? There was nobody. Everyone was downstairs at the time.’

  ‘Apart from your cousin Susan. Louisa said she came out of her room and fainted when she saw what had happened.’

  ‘Ah yes, I’d forgotten about her. Yes, she was upstairs.’

  ‘Do you remember where John Haynes was?’

  ‘Uncle John? No, I can’t say that I do. He was probably hiding away somewhere. He hates these family gatherings as much as the rest of us so he escapes to his study whenever he can.’

  ‘Do you believe Winifred’s death was deliberate? I know your mother believes it was,’ went on Angela hurriedly, seeing him about to speak, ‘but what do you think?’

  Robin glanced round, as though making sure Ursula really had left the room.

  ‘It looks odd in the light of what happened to my father,’ he admitted finally, ‘but really, I couldn’t tell you. I saw nothing suspicious.’

  ‘And what about your Aunt Philippa?’

  ‘I know Mother thinks she was poisoned, but she had heart trouble, so it was hardly a surprise when she died.’

  ‘Do you remember anything about the events of that evening? You don’t remember what you had for dinner, for example?’

  ‘Of course not. I can barely recall what I had for dinner a week ago. Surely you can’t expect me to remember a meal that I ate last year.’

  ‘There was soup,’ said Ursula suddenly, making them jump. She had come back into the room so quietly that they had not heard her approach. ‘It was a mulligatawny. I am not fond of mulligatawny. That is how I remember it. What else we had I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Lamb,’ said Robin, as though the memory had just struck him. ‘Of course, it was lamb. And a rather indifferent soufflé to follow.’

  ‘How was the soup served?’ asked Angela.

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ said Ursula.

  ‘I mean, did it arrive in a tureen or already served into separate dishes?’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ said Ursula. Robin shook his head in agreement.

  ‘Was coffee served afterwards?’

  ‘I imagine so,’ replied Ursula.

  Angela tried again.

  ‘Louisa said Philippa complained about the dinner. Do you remember that?’ she asked.

  ‘Philippa was always complaining,’ said Ursula. ‘She was never happier than when finding fault with something. After a while, one tended to ignore it. To answer your question therefore—no, I do not remember her expressing discontent about that in particular, although that is not to say she did not.’

  ‘And she went up to bed as normal? She did not mention feeling unwell?’

  ‘No more than was usual,’ said Ursula. ‘She liked to make the most of her indisposition, you see. That was another thing it was easier to ignore. Otherwise one would have been dancing attendance on her from morning to night.’

  The sun streamed cheerfully into the room, as though inviting all those hiding inside to throw open the doors and run into the garden. Angela was starting to feel wearied by the oppressive atmosphere in the house and the unfriendliness of its inhabitants.

  ‘I have just one more question,’ she said. ‘Do you recognize this?’

  She produced the photograph of the young woman. Robin glanced at it incuriously.

  ‘No, not at all,’ he said.

  Ursula looked at it for a little longer, then handed it back to Angela with a shake of the head.

  ‘I have never seen her before,’ she said. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘That’s what I want to find out,’ said Angela. She rose. ‘Thank you for your help,’ she said.

  ‘I am sorry you have so little evidence to go on,’ said Ursula almost graciously, ‘but perhaps you will succeed in unearthing something that the police have overlooked.’

  ‘Perhaps. If you think of anything else that might help, do please let me know.’

  ‘I shall. And remember what I said.’

  As Angela walked down the front path of the house, she glanced back briefly and saw Ursula and Robin standing side by side at the window, staring darkly at her as they watched her leave. Once out of sight, she gave a little shiver and hurried away from the house as fast as she could.

  NINE

  The sun continued to shine as Mrs. Marchmont stepped off the train at Waterloo, and the day was such a warm and pleasant one that she decided to walk home rather than take a taxi. Besides, she wanted an opportunity to reflect on what she had learnt so far. Accordingly, she set off at a leisurely pace across the bridge, pausing once or twice to admire the expansive view of the city that can be gained only from its river.

  On Northumberland Avenue, her way was impeded by a throng of people standing outside a theatre waiting to be admitted to the matinée performance of a comic play that had been receiving highly favourable reviews from the London critics. The crowd formed such a solid mass that there appeared to be no means of passing through it for a person of normal size, so after one or two unsuccessful forays Angela turned and prepared to cross to the other side of the road.

  The next few minutes were ones of con
fusion. Afterwards, Angela had no clear recollection of what had happened, but she was quite certain that someone had shoved her hard in the small of the back, and all she knew next was that she was sprawled in the middle of the road, staring helplessly at the inexorable approach of a large motor-van as it bore down upon her. Several people screamed, and one shouted ‘Look out, miss!’, then there was a loud screech as the van (thank heaven for effective brakes!) came to a halt just inches away.

  ‘’Ere! What’s all this then? What do you think you’re doing?’ cried the indignant driver, descending with all speed from his cab.

  ‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ said a dazed Angela, sitting up. ‘I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Well there ain’t no call for it—jumping in front of a person like that. You might have been killed, and then wouldn’t there be trouble? I got rounds to do, see? And I’m already late.’

  ‘You leave her be,’ said a fat woman. ‘Can’t you see she’s hurt?’

  ‘No, no, I’m quite all right,’ said Angela, almost sure she was telling the truth. She stood up carefully and dusted herself down. As far as she could judge, apart from grazed hands and knees and a severe blow to her pride she was unharmed.

  ‘Miss, miss, he’s got your bag!’ exclaimed a small boy suddenly. The cry went up.

  ‘He pushed her!’

  ‘Catch him!’

  ‘Quick! He’s got her handbag!’

  ‘Somebody stop him!’

  There was a commotion and a certain amount of excited shrieking as several men and a quantity of boys broke away from the throng and bolted all in the same direction just as Angela realized that the article in question was indeed missing.

  ‘There you go,’ said the fat woman comfortably. ‘Now he’s for it. Are you feeling better now, miss?’

  ‘Yes thank you. Did you see what happened?’ said Angela, who had by now quite recovered her faculties.

  ‘Someone pushed you into the road and then ran away with your bag,’ replied the woman. ‘That’s a low trick, if you ask me. They’ll catch him now, though, you mark my words.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Why, I couldn’t rightly say—I didn’t see him myself.’

  ‘Please, miss, he was a big, tall man with a stoop,’ said the small boy excitedly.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ said a faded-looking woman. She turned to Angela. ‘He’s talking nonsense, he is. He was medium-sized and thin, with a grey suit and a beard.’

  ‘He was tall, I tell you. And his suit wasn’t grey, it was dark blue. And it was a moustache, not a beard,’ said the boy stubbornly.

  ‘And he had a scar on his cheek,’ chimed in a middle-aged man, who appeared to be the faded woman’s husband.

  ‘What do you mean, he had a scar on ’is cheek?’ demanded his wife. ‘How do you know? You were looking in the other direction, like always. You never see what’s right in front of your nose, do you? And look at all them other men chasing ’im. Why didn’t you help? You could have been a hero for once, ’stead of standing there like a rabbit.’

  ‘How am I supposed to chase him if I never saw him?’ said the man, looking mutinous.

  ‘You said he had a scar so you must’ve seen him.’

  ‘According to you, I was looking the other way. You can’t ’ave it both ways, can you?’

  ‘He never had no scar that I saw, miss,’ said the boy quietly, so as not to get drawn into the dispute.

  ‘I wouldn’t know, myself,’ said the fat woman. ‘Beard, moustache, blue suit, green suit—he could have had all or none of them for all I know. Like I said, I never saw nothing.’

  The theatre doors had by now opened but many of those in the crowd were showing a marked reluctance to enter given the free entertainment on offer right before their eyes. Why, this was much better than a play! Meanwhile Angela, feeling increasingly foolish and embarrassed at the undisguised stares and frank curiosity of the assembled multitude, pretended to be examining the grazes on her hands as she tried to decide what to do next. ‘Shall I go to the police straight away?’ she said to herself. ‘Really, I suppose I ought to stay here until some of these people return from the chase. I don’t imagine for a second they’ll catch him, though.’

  Just then a great cheer went up and, to Angela’s surprise, the crowd parted to reveal a small group of people, led by a flushed and panting young man, who approached her and shyly but proudly presented her with none other than her own bag, seemingly undamaged.

  ‘Did you catch him, then?’ demanded the fat woman.

  The youth shook his head.

  ‘Headed into Covent Garden, didn’t he? Disappeared down an alley and we lost him. But we found this on the ground. I guess it must be yours—either that or we’ve pinched some other lady’s bag by mistake.’

  There was a ripple of laughter at this pleasantry. Angela smiled, glanced into the bag and saw that nothing seemed to be missing.

  ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but it was left open so I had a quick look inside to see if anything might have been taken. I don’t think he got your purse at any rate.’

  Angela was suitably effusive and generous in her gratitude and the young man departed, beaming and blushing furiously as he was patted on the shoulder from all sides. The crowd gave a collective sigh of satisfaction at a good afternoon’s fun happily resolved, and gradually melted into the theatre. The motor-van driver shook his head in admonishment and went on his way, leaving only the small boy, who hung about hopefully, unwilling to leave in case some other exciting misadventure should befall the smart lady.

  ‘Are you going to the police, miss?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Angela. ‘I’ve got my bag back and there’s no real harm done other than one or two bruises. No, I shan’t be bothering them today, I think.’

  The boy’s face was the picture of disappointment.

  ‘But what about the robber?’ he said. ‘He’ll get clean away. Why, he might be murdering an old lady in her bed with an axe this minute!’

  Angela could not help laughing at this bloodthirsty vision.

  ‘I do hope not,’ she said. ‘Very well, I’ll tell you what I will do. I have an acquaintance who is a very high-up policeman, and when I see him I shall report the matter to him and ask him to investigate. Will that do?’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said the boy, nodding vigorously. ‘A high-up policeman! Is he a Scotland Yard ‘tec, your friend?’

  ‘He is indeed, and a very important one too,’ said Angela. She tapped her nose mysteriously.

  ‘Coo!’ said the boy, opening his eyes wide. ‘Is he one of them what investigates murders and suchlike?’

  ‘Yes, murders, thefts, blackmail, drug-running, espionage—all sorts of things. Why, he was one of the men who brought the McBride gang to justice, and he has a bullet-wound in his side to prove it!’

  The boy clasped his hands together and almost danced in excitement.

  ‘I wish I could meet him,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be a detective just like him when I grow up.’

  ‘Oh? Then you will have to work very hard and start practising now. Tell me again what the man who stole my bag looked like. He was tall with a stoop and a moustache, I think you said.’

  The boy looked down and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

  ‘I thought he was,’ he admitted. ‘But now I wonder whether I was looking at the right fellow. There was such a row going on that I might have got the wrong one.’

  ‘Then you would not swear to your earlier description?’

  He shook his head sheepishly.

  Angela smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It is not easy to be an accurate observer, but I have no doubt that the next time you are a witness to a crime you will remember everything you saw.’

  The boy looked relieved.

  ‘I think I ought to be getting home now,’ she went on.

  ‘Get you a taxi, miss?’ said the boy.

  ‘Yes please,’ said Angela. She was still feeling r
ather shaken after her experience and decided it was better not to risk the walk.

  The taxi arrived and Angela got in. The boy stayed to salute her.

  ‘Don’t forget to tell your ‘tec friend,’ he said. ‘He’ll catch the fellow, you’ll see!’

  ‘Of course,’ said Angela. She nodded and winked.

  ‘Good gracious!’ she said to herself as the taxi departed, ‘A bullet-wound in his side, indeed! I must be quite light-headed after that fall to be talking such bunk.’ Then she sat back in her seat and laughed until the tears rolled down her face.

  TEN

  After a hot bath and a light repast Angela felt much better, and submitted without too much protest to being fussed over by her maid, Marthe, who was horrified to hear of her adventure.

  ‘But madame,’ she said, ‘You ought not to have been wandering around the city alone. It is full of des méchants and assassins—bad men who lie in wait around every corner to cut one’s throat. I have always said it, have I not? And now I am proved right. Look at your poor hands! And your silk stockings, torn to rags!’ She clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘Promise me you will not go out alone again without a man to protect you.’

  Angela laughed.

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Marthe,’ she said. ‘To hear you, anyone would think that London was the seventh circle of Hell. I was merely unfortunate this afternoon. An opportunistic thief thought he should get good pickings from me, that’s all. I shall of course be more careful in future.’

  Marthe threw up her hands in despair.

  ‘What will become of you, madame? Very well, I wash my hands of it, but I beg of you—do not take any risks.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t,’ replied Angela. ‘Now, bring me some coffee and a paper and pencil. I should like to think for a while.’

  She sat down at an elegant little table by the window, from where she was accustomed to amuse herself in observing the passers-by as they went about their daily business. Having spent much of her adult life in New York, Angela had grown to prefer big cities to small towns, and was pleased with the situation of her flat, which afforded an excellent view of the street below. On this occasion, however, she was not concerned with the goings-on outside, her thoughts being occupied by other matters. She sat staring at nothing much as her coffee cooled beside her and the sun began to sink. After a while she shook herself, nodded firmly and bent to her task, scribbling rapidly for several minutes. Occasionally she paused to collect her thoughts or cross something out. Finally she threw down her pencil, picked up the paper and read through what she had written. It was as follows: