Nicholas stopped beside Judy’s machine. He tapped her on the shoulder.
“They’re expecting the result of the post-mortem this afternoon.” Judy shuddered. “Really, for a sensible girl you’re very silly about this post-mortem business. What difference can it make to the old lady, who, we hope, by now is sitting on a cloud having her first harping lesson, whether they cut up her frail old remains or not?”
Judy was used to hearing and being heard over the noise of the machines. She went on working while she talked.
“I don’t believe for a moment that she’s learning to harp. If heaven’s at all like one hopes it is, she’s found Mr. Former and they’re looking after a lot of celestial dogs, including Mr. Jones.”
“All right then, celestial kennels, but whatever it is it can’t matter to her what they do with that old body she threw off down here any more than it matters to you what happens to the old coat you throw away.”
Judy looked at him reproachfully.
“That’s a very silly example. These days we women never throw away a coat. Certainly not in the happy-go-lucky way you describe. Are you coming to the concert?”
“Certainly I am. I even sent Mother a line to tell her that the works are going on the air and then she can sit by her wireless set, and say with a proud smile, There, that’s my Nick’s laugh, I’d recognize it anywhere!’ Also, though you’re so wrapped up in your house’s concerns that I dare say it has escaped you, I’m accompanying our Shirley and hoping very much to get nicely announced for doing it. I think you might have guessed I should be appearing when you saw the advertisement ‘Works Wonders’.” He looked at her face. “Snap out of it, Judy dear. It’s not doing you or anybody else any good to let it prey on your mind.”
Judy tried to smile at him.
“Sorry. I do try, but it’s the waiting gets you down. If you knew what it was like in our house! Miss Rose never stops crying and Clara keeps up a triumphant crowing about how stupid it is of Doctor Mead to hold a post-mortem, they’ll find that the old lady died a natural death, and to add to it all, that little horror Desmond seems to like funerals, for he skips about the house singing, ‘They’re putting great-granny in a hole in the ground same as great-grandfather’.”
“Well, it’s your fault, there’s no need for you to stay.”
“What, and leave Miss Rose! Likely, isn’t it? As a matter of fact her lawyer’s been to see her. All things being equal she seems to be going to be quite well off. If we can find anywhere to go I think I could talk her into it and let Clara go on living in the house with Desmond.”
“You’re taking it rather for granted, aren’t you, that the old lady died a natural death?”
Judy paused in her work for a moment and turned to him.
“I mustn’t stop working now, but perhaps I shall get a chance to have a word with you in the canteen. I talked to Clara last night, and I must say, if she’s apprehensive about the result of that post-mortem, then she’s the most marvellous actress that ever lived.”
The Works Wonders concert was going well. It was more formal than the usual canteen concert because, instead of the applause going to the more popular artists, it was regulated and conducted so as to cause a continuous roar of enthusiastic sound. Shirley was popular and her singing of “I’ll walk beside you” was a natural riot. There were no encores so that when it was over Nicholas slipped round to the back of the room and sat on the piece of bench that Judy had kept for him. The works’ band had just started on a medley of tunes, most of which were on the noisy side. They talked to each other in whispers.
“What did you talk to Clara about last night?”
“I didn’t, she talked to me. She was feeding the chickens and I met her. It was about responsibility, really. She said that she thought we all had certain responsibilities for which we should be prepared to sacrifice everything. I thought at first that she was talking about the war, but afterwards, thinking it over, I wasn’t sure. She was on a very highfalutin plane, believe me. All about caring for the weak and helpless who are in your charge. She said that was her faith and by that she lived. You must admit a person who feels like that wouldn’t do in an old lady, would she?”
“Probably talking for effect.”
“I don’t think so. In any case you can find out for yourself because she said, amongst other things, wouldn’t I like to bring you to the house, that you mustn’t think that because we had a death we were morbid and wouldn’t see visitors.”
Nicholas grinned.
“Bit of a shock to her if she knew she’d got a visitor sleeping in every night, but I will come back with you after work to-day because they’ll have got the result of the post-mortem, and I expect you’ll find the house full to the brim of sleuths.”
Judy turned a startled face to him.
“No! I thought they’d just send a Black Maria and take Clara away.”
“Not at all, my poor innocent. Say the old lady has died of arsenic, everybody can be as certain as they like that Clara put it in her soup, but unless they can find that she had the arsenic in her possession they won’t be able to do anything about her, and, as a matter of fact, if they find the old lady’s died of poisoning, which I’m certain they will, I’m afraid poor old Miss Rose will be harried around a bit. After all, if she’s going to be quite well off, it’s she who gained by the death, not Clara.” Judy gave him a pitying look.
“The woolliest-headed detective in the world couldn’t suspect Miss Rose. Poor pet, she simply adored her mother.”
“I know, my lamb, but the law’s the law, and if somebody did the old lady in then they’re bound to have a careful look over everybody who can have gained by it, that’s why I’m coming back from work with you. I know how truculent you can be, and I don’t want you to be truculent in defence of Miss Rose, it’ll do more harm than good.”
That evening Nicholas and Judy rushed out of the works and hurried up the road towards the old house. Nicholas offered Judy a drink to fortify her, but she was too anxious to waste any time. Ever since her talk with Nicholas in the canteen she had been haunted by a vision of silly, hymn-singing old Miss Rose being cross-examined by someone from Scotland Yard.
“I wish I’d known that there might be detectives up there,” she said to Nicholas. “You know, Miss Rose is a pet, but she’s an awful idiot, she won’t know in the least what they’re driving at, and, you see, she thinks she’s got something to hide.”
“What?”
“Milk off the ration to make butter and things like that. She’s always thought that she is a big dealer in the Black Market. She’s always kept it from her mother. Of course she is a silly old pet, it’s just that when there’s extra milk the house can have it, and the only person she has to keep it from is Clara, who wants everything extra for Desmond.”
Nicholas took her arm.
“The Worry cow
Would have lived till now
If she hadn’t lost her breath,
She worried her hay,
Wouldn’t last all day
And she worried herself to death.”
“A very good rhyme for you, my girl. Odd though it may seem, our detectives are excellent judges of human nature and won’t be deceived by Miss Rose. They’ll have found out all about her little hoards of food in two minutes, and got on to more important things.”
As Nicholas and Judy came up the private road they walked in silence, their eyes strained at the gate in front of them. What would they see? Just outside the gate Nicholas paused.
“If we do find detectives here you’ve nothing whatsoever to be afraid of. Think carefully before you speak. Tell everything you know, and, above all, because some silly little thing may, in your opinion, look bad for Miss Rose, don’t hold it back. The truth, exactly and all the time. It’s the only thing when dealing with the law.”
There was no sign of detectives. Instead a scene of remarkable calm met their eyes. Clara and Miss Rose were on the lawn sewing at some black material. In the distance Desmond was playing some game of his own, hopping and skipping to catch something in the air. Clara looked up as Nicholas and Judy came towards her.
“How do you do? I’m glad you’ve come to the house, Mr. Parsons, it’s been sad for Judy this last day or two.” Judy could not bring herself to ask what she wanted to know, but she had to say something. She tried to pretend interest in their sewing.
“What are you making?”
Miss Rose tried to control her voice, but it wobbled.
“It’s some black things of Mother’s, dear. We’re altering them to wear at the funeral. We haven’t the coupons for anything new.”
“And, in any case,” said Clara briskly, “it would be a ridiculous expense.”
“The funeral?” Nicholas spoke in a voice which neatly combined immense interest with suitable solemnity. “When is it?”
Miss Rose sniffed.
“The day after to-morrow. I am so glad they’re letting her rest at last, poor dear. I didn’t like all this cutting her up. They never did that with Father.”
Nicholas sat on the ground at Clara’s feet.
“No, very unpleasant. They’ve finished the post-mortem then?”
Clara let her work drop into her lap. There was a flush on her cheeks. She looked extraordinarily pleased with herself.
“They have, Mr. Parsons, and the result is exactly what I told them. Grandmother died a perfectly natural death, just Anno Domini.”
Miss Rose had tears in her eyes.
“They couldn’t find anything much the matter. Her heart just stopped.”
Judy felt as if a cold hand had clutched hold of her. She turned her head to the side of the house where the little gate opened on to the path that led to the kennels. She heard again Nicholas’ voice, “Just Anno Domini. He seemed to have nothing much the matter with him. His heart just stopped beating.” She turned back to look at Nicholas. She could feel he wanted to say something. Clara’s voice broke the silence.
“You’ll stay for supper, won’t you, Mr. Parsons?”