Judy did not go to bed again that night. She lay down fully dressed, and then, just before five, she got up, washed in cold water, did her hair and face and crept down the stairs.
“I don’t suppose even a death in the house stops a woman like Clara from keeping to her routine,” she thought. “Anyway, I’ll be on the safe side.”
The Bull looked as barred and shuttered as you would expect at that hour in the morning. Nicholas had one day shown Judy his window, and she had, of course, remembered which it was. Evidently Nicholas either did not read in bed or else pulled back the curtains before going to sleep. The black-out was not drawn, the window stood wide open. Judy went into the inn yard and picked up a handful of small stones, stood back well away from Nicholas’ window and flung them in. In a moment Nicholas, with his hair on end, was looking out.
“Good Lord, woman! What’s the matter? You hit me slap on the nose.”
Judy peered up at him, longing for the actual feel of him.
“Oh, please come down. It’s the old lady, Nick. She died last night. I’m terribly worried. I can’t explain out here.”
Nicholas was extraordinarily efficient In a very few minutes he was down the stairs dressed in a shirt and grey flannel trousers and had drawn Judy into the inn.
“I’ve put on the kettle,” he said cheerfully, “and I’ve found the tea canister, so we’ll soon have a cup of tea.”
They sat on the kitchen table. The main rooms would not be very attractive, Nicholas explained, with the empty glasses and cigarette-butts lying around. Besides, in the kitchen they were handy when the kettle boiled.
“Now, come on,” he said, closing one of his hands over Judy’s, “out with it, let’s hear everything from the beginning.”
Judy started and got as far as the old lady’s aversion to Clara’s looking after her when shock, lack of sleep and misery got the better of her and she burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she wailed between sobs, “but I was fond of her, you know.”
Nicholas pulled forward a chair and sat her in it. He knelt down by her, rubbing her hands.
“Poor little sweet, you shan’t say one more word until you’ve had some tea, and no ordinary tea either. You’re going to take Doctor Nicholas’ prescription. I’ve just a drop of real honest to God French brandy upstairs, and it’s going into your tea. That’s what I believe in the best circles is called laced with brandy.”
Warmed by the tea and strengthened by the brandy, Judy was able at last to tell her story. At the end of it Nicholas began pacing up and down the kitchen.
“Now, let’s get things straight. The old lady had been put to bed by the doctor’s orders.”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have believed Clara, but I’ve got Miss Rose’s word for that. While I was away staying with you she tripped in the garden, and Clara sent for the doctor. The doctor told Miss Rose he thought the old lady was breaking up a bit and needed more attention, and was not to give herself her insulin.”
Nicholas took two or three strides up and down the room in silence.
“What, of course, none of us know is what our dear Clara said to the doctor. What was the old lady’s story of the tripping, did you get that?”
“She said there was nothing on earth the matter with her, that she did trip over a little bit of string, but she saved herself from a bad fall by coming down on her hands and knees, and was like that when Clara found her.”
“Well, didn’t Clara see she tripped over a bit of string?”
“No, she couldn’t find it, and told Mrs. Former she’d had a giddy fit.”
Nicholas lit two cigarettes and gave one to Judy. “Well, what happened then?”
“The old lady was put to bed, and Miss Rose was instructed to take away her hypodermic, but at this the old lady kicked up such a shindy that it was let pass for that night, but the next day, that was Monday, Miss Rose had to go scampering off to Doctor Mead who, to save trouble, came up and gave the injection himself, but at the same time told the old lady not to be naughty and to let herself be looked after for a day or two.”
“So last night was the first night that either Mrs. Former herself or the doctor had not given her the injection?”
“That’s right, but there wasn’t a thing the matter with the injection, I saw that go in.”
“Yes, so you told me. But don’t let’s go too fast. When you got home from work you went up and saw the old lady, and talked her into agreeing to let you give the injection.”
“Yes, but I didn’t actually mean to do it, you know. I meant to measure the dose for her and see she put it in properly herself.”
“Now, tell me slowly about your conversation with Clara.”
Judy went slowly over all that had been said.
“It’s not very easy, as you can see. When she gets excited, words sort of fall out of her. Somehow she muddled it all up with Desmond, and there’s not the faintest doubt that she’s awfully proud of being a good nurse, and thought I was being rude when I said I was hospital trained.”
Nicholas puffed at his cigarette, and it was quite a time before he spoke again.
“And in the end she agreed that you should help her give it. What caused that change of heart?”
Judy pulled her mind back to the kitchen and yesterday evening.
“Nothing at all. Desmond interrupted with his usual meaningless stuff and then, when Clara came back to her cooking, she was quite all right. She said she was sorry she had lost her temper, that to-night didn’t matter very much because the old lady had been ordered some sedative and she’s given it in some soup.” Nicholas shot across the room and knelt in front of Judy.
“Sedative in soup! I wonder.”
Judy shivered.
“You mean, you think she poisoned her?”
Nicholas thumped Judy’s knee with his forefinger.
“Pull yourself together, my girl, you didn’t come running to me in the early hours of the morning without reason. You came because you were frightened, and you were frightened because of the way the old lady died. It can’t have been the insulin, you saw that put in and that the dose was right. Then what? If you were to nip back now, the bowl that soup was in wouldn’t have been washed up, would it?”
Judy looked at him pityingly.
“People like Clara wash everything up right away. Particularly, I expect, if they’ve been using poison.” Nicholas got up and held out a hand to her.
“I’ll walk you home. You don’t want to get Clara suspicious; it’s quite natural that you should be upset and gone out for an early walk, but it’s time you were back” Judy shivered. He looked at her. “You’ll be all right all day, and I’ll fix up somewhere for you to go tonight.”
That was the kind of stimulant Judy needed. Up shot her chin.
“You won’t, I’m sleeping in my own bed. If you think I’m going to leave poor old Miss Rose up there alone you’re quite wrong.”
Nicholas sighed.
“I knew you were going to say that. During the day I’ll think up something so that it’s easier for you to get hold of me. But what we’ve now got to think of is what is going to make Doctor Mead refuse to sign the death certificate without a post-mortem.”
Judy glared at the road ahead of them.
“If Clara has really finished off the old pet you can bet anything you like that she’s not left Doctor Mead to chance. I bet you anything that when he had that talk with her about the old lady’s fall she laid all the trails.”
“What did he say when he came last night?”
“Nothing that I know of. He was sweet to me, patted my hand and asked me to get some hot milk for myself and Miss Rose, and to give Miss Rose a sleeping-tablet. I don’t know what he said to Clara, very little, I think. I heard him come out of the old lady’s room, and then, as he locked the door, he said he’d be back in the morning.”
Nicholas stood still.
“Locked the door?”
“That’s right.”
He let out a low whistle.
“It doesn’t sound to me as though there’s much grass growing on Doctor Mead. I don’t think that you lock doors on what, I believe, the gravedigger described as ‘people who died holily in their beds’. In other words, natural death. I seem to remember when my father died there was a great deal of coming and going. Great-aunts who wanted a look and to say a prayer, you know.”
“Well, of course, it might just be that he hadn’t been able to send up anyone to lay her out. Mightn’t it?”
They were nearly at the private road. Nicholas stood still and took Judy by her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“It easily might, but I’m hopeful that it wasn’t.” He gave her a little shake. “Now, my little British lion, however brave you may be, look, on this occasion, like a wide-eyed innocent, and your Uncle Nick will be along to see you on your machine to hear the latest developments.”
It was miserable in the house, and Judy was thankful when she had made some pretence at eating breakfast and was on her way to work. Miss Rose was still in bed sleeping, but Clara was downstairs, and, far from being depressed, had a kind of truculent gaiety about her.
“Such nonsense!” she told Judy as she put some bacon in front of her. “Doctor Mead is going to have a post-mortem. ‘Why bother?’ I said, ‘I told you she was breaking up. Cut her up as much as you like, that’s all you’ll find’.”
Judy shuddered and pushed away her bacon untasted. “She was such an old darling,” she explained.
“Waste not, want not. It was easy enough for you to run round treating her like a prize poodle, but you didn’t have to do for her. Anyway, she’d had her threescore years and ten. I don’t believe in anyone stopping on after that. Give the younger ones a chance, that’s what I say.”
Judy found it extraordinarily hard to keep up her output that morning. She seemed to lack all energy, and it was with relief that she got a message in the middle of the morning that she was wanted in the office. In the office were the manager, a tall, good-looking man whom Judy up till then had only known by sight, and Doctor Mead. The manager drew up a chair for her.
“You know Doctor Mead, I understand, he wants a word with you.” He turned to the doctor. “You can have this room as long as you like. I’ll give orders not to have you disturbed.”
Doctor Mead took out his cigarette-case and offered it to Judy.
“As I expect you heard this morning, I don’t feel able to say of what Mrs. Former died, so I can’t sign her death certificate, and that means a post-mortem, which is always an unpleasant affair. In this case it’s a mere formality, probably the old lady was old and tired and wearing out, but it’s my duty to be satisfied. What was your impression of her?”
Judy fixed the doctor with a direct glance.
“I thought she was wonderful for her age, and only really showed she was old in her deafness. I know she’s supposed to have had a giddy fit and fallen over, but I think she’s far more likely to have been right about the bit of string.”
“Yes, that bit of string. I’ve not forgotten it. Now, tell me about this injection business. You saw it given, and you were partially trained in hospital, so you’d know how to give an injection.”
Judy nodded.
“How big was the dose?”
“Twenty units.”
“You saw it put into the syringe?”
“And into the leg. I cleaned the place.”
Doctor Mead got up.
“It’s extraordinarily unlikely that there’s anything the matter, but, of course, we none of us can ever be too careful, can we?” He threw a sharp look at Judy. “Sleep last night?” She shook her head. “I thought not. I’ll have a word with the first-aid post as I go out, and see if they’ve got somewhere you can lie down for an hour or two.”
As Judy was coming down the office stairs to the works she found Nicholas waiting for her.
“I went to your machine. Shirley told me where you were. What happened?”
Judy explained.
“He never mentioned the soup or the sedative.”
“Not a word?”
“No.”
The offices ran round a gallery against the outer wall of the main workshop. Under the offices were various store-rooms. Nicholas opened the door of one and, finding it empty, drew Judy inside.
“Listen, darling. I’m not going to waste my breath on trying to get you out of that house. I realize that if you knew for certain that you were having a bowl of poisoned soup every day for a week you still wouldn’t budge.”
“Would you leave Miss Rose there alone?”
“I dare say I wouldn’t, but as soon as we humanly can we must get her shifted, unless, of course, Clara is found to have put poison in the soup, in which case you and Miss Rose can live cosily together having fun and games with Desmond while Clara hangs by the neck until she’s dead. In the meantime, however, I have a plan. Down that cobbled path at the side of the house and through that small gate, out where you took me to see the kennels and we found Mr. Jones, there’s an outhouse, isn’t there?”
“Yes. It’s used for all sorts of things. Miss Rose makes butter and cream there on the sly whenever we have some extra milk, and Clara does washing there.”
“Well, I propose to sleep there. There’s a field path at the back of those kennels that I can get in by, and I’ll take a couple of rugs and a portable mattress.”
“But suppose you oversleep? What are you going to say if Clara finds you there in the morning?”
“She won’t. All my life I’ve been able to wake up at any time I wanted. The only thing is, of course, the village will think I’m sleeping with you. Do you mind a bit of scandal?”
Judy flushed.
“Don’t be such an idiot! But why are you doing it?”
He took her hand.
“Because I don’t like Clara. I think she may be a murderess. Because there’s no reason why you should sacrifice yourself to Miss Rose all on your own, and there’s a third and rather useless reason. Because I’m very fond of a person called Judy.”
Judy felt as if her heart missed a beat. She was suddenly conscious of the bench on which they were sitting, and the rows of sealed cans all round them, and the distant roar of machinery from beyond the closed door. “I’m very fond of you, Judy.” What a darling little sentence and how beautifully he said it! She waited for more. When at last he broke the silence he was again back on plans.
“I shall be in that outhouse from ten every evening until five the next morning. At the present moment you’ll have to come and fetch me if you want me, but I’ll fix up something better than that before I’m through.” He lifted her face in his two hands. “You’ll be glad to have me, won’t you?” Judy was hoping so desperately that he would kiss her that she found it quite hard to answer, but at last she managed a muffled “Yes, please”. Then, to her disappointment, he got to his feet and took her by the hand. “Come along then. We’ve broken every law of decent behaviour in factories. One, no unauthorized person is allowed inside the stores. Two, though this one’s unwritten, no man and girl employed by the firm must give an impression of wantonry carried on in the works. Good-bye, sweet, and don’t forget when you tuck yourself into bed tonight to say, ‘Good night, Nick, have a nice time with the mice in the outhouse’.”