While Clara was getting the supper, Nicholas tried to get a word alone with Judy. It proved difficult. Miss Rose’s wits, never of a very bright order, had become so slow since the shock of her mother’s death that she was incapable of taking a hint. She sat squarely in her chair stitching, and kept up a continual flow of conversation, not, as Judy noticed pityingly, because she wanted to talk, but because she dreaded being alone with her thoughts.
“Mother bought this piece of stuff in London and had it made up in Bristol. Quite a tussle she had with Dad about it. Dad couldn’t bear black, but Mother liked it; she said she had so little occasion to wear good clothes that people got to know them too well if they were coloured. One year, the King’s Jubilee, Dad made her have a kind of purple with some cherry colour on it. She wore it, of course, on Jubilee Day for the processions and that, but she hardly ever put it on again. She said the moment it was on her she felt people were nudging each other and saying, ‘Here’s Mrs. Former in her Jubilee costume’.”
Nicholas picked up a piece of the stuff which Miss Rose was stitching and felt it between his fingers.
“Very nice piece of stuff, isn’t it? But I suppose she always bought the best.”
“Oh, yes. Never wanted for a thing when Father was alive. Of course it wasn’t always that way, the business had grown gradually, you know. Still, it was years since she’d wanted for anything, seemed quite queer, somehow, her thinking about money.”
“I suppose your lawyers had to be strict. Death-duties are so heavy these days.”
Miss Rose raised puzzled eyes.
“Oh, no. Mr. John’s never said anything like that. He told Mother that we’d be able to live much the same as we always had. He told her there was quite a piece of capital she could use if she was short. Mother thought at first that would be all right, it was only when Clara explained to her that if she used capital other people coming after went without. Then, of course, she gave up all idea of spending it. I used to say to her, ‘You use it, Mother, I wouldn’t mind,’ but somehow she’d got scared by then and left everything to Clara. Clara’s wonderful with money.”
“I expect your father was proud of her. A granddaughter with a business sense.”
Judy was picking little pieces of grass and laying them in a small haystack in front of her. She looked at Nicholas out of the corner of her eyes, wondering if he was not going a bit far. Surely Miss Rose must grasp that she was being cross-examined, but she seemed blissfully unaware that anything but ordinary chat was going on.
“Oh, dear, no. He didn’t believe in women knowing anything about business. My sister Millicent was Father’s pet, you know, and Father wasn’t really pleased when she married Arthur Roal. You see, he was a chemist and, Father thought, not good enough for Millicent. My poor sister Millicent died soon after her baby, Alfred, was born, and Father, though he tried to be just, always blamed Alfred a little, I think. I suppose he might have got fond of Alfred if he’d married just a simple, pretty girl, but instead, you see, he married Clara.”
Nicholas’ voice was deliberately casual.
“What did your father say when he first saw her?”
“He said, ‘That damned chemist grandson of mine would marry a scrawny, black-haired thing like that,’ and then he said,” she lowered her voice, “for Father took a lot of interest in breeding, you know, it was his job, ‘a woman with brains and that shaped head won’t breed right, you’ll see’.” She cast an anxious look at the house to be sure her voice would not carry to the kitchen. “Then, you see, Desmond came.”
Nicholas and Judy looked across the garden at Desmond. He was at some game of his own which necessitated his walking on all fours.
“Your father thought his prophecy right?”
Miss Rose leant towards Nicholas.
“Of course nobody ever admits it, but we have sometimes thought there was truth in it. Do you think he’s a little different from other children?”
Nicholas slid past the subject of Desmond with a sympathetic grunt.
“Of course, when you’re getting on in years you probably don’t want your granddaughter and your great-grandson living with you, especially if you aren’t feeling too good.” Judy made a move to explain to him that Mr. Former had died suddenly, but Nicholas stopped her with a quick look. “When you’re under the weather things tire you very quickly, don’t they?”
“Oh, but Father wasn’t under the weather long,” Miss Rose protested. “He’d had mild influenza, you know, but he went back to work. He seemed all right to myself and Mother.”
“Yes?” Nicholas queried.
“It was only when Clara pointed it out that we noticed it. It was little things. He complained things were moved, that the garage door was locked – just a lot of silly little things, which, as Clara explained, were none of them true. It just showed he was run down. She was very wise about it. She said to Mother we mustn’t let him suspect it was she who first noticed he wasn’t well, for it would have annoyed Dad, and then he would have got into a tear. He was as stubborn as a mule when he liked.”
Nicholas looked up at Miss Rose with a smile.
“And what did your mother do?”
“She popped off to Doctor Mead and asked him to drop in casually for a bite, just to see if he noticed anything wrong. Mother told him, of course, why she was worried.”
“And did Doctor Mead find something wrong?” Nicholas asked.
Miss Rose turned to Judy.
“You know how people were about Mother.” Her voice trembled. “Nobody liked to see her worried, did they, and she had been in a proper state since Clara suggested that Dad was ill. Doctor Mead said that he thought that he might be better for a bit of a tonic.”
Nicholas dug a little hole in the lawn with a stick.
“I bet that caused an uproar; not much of a tonic man, was he?”
Miss Rose smiled reminiscently.
“No. I can hear him now. ‘When I need a tonic, Doctor, I’ll give myself a good tablespoon of some stuff I give my bulls,’ that’s what he said. I forget now exactly how he got Father to agree to injections. I think it was just by promising him that he’d learn something out of it which he might find useful in his own job. Then Doctor Mead got him down to his surgery and gave him a thorough overhaul. I don’t think he told Father that there was anything the matter with him, and he never told Mother. He told me and he told Clara. ‘His heart’s not too good,’ he said, ‘you want to keep an eye on him. Any sudden exertion might finish him off.’ He told me not to worry, that he’d known hundreds of hearts like it that had lasted for years.”
Nicholas was looking up at Miss Rose with an alert expression. He reminded Judy of a sporting dog on the scent of something.
“Then neither you nor Clara nor Doctor Mead were surprised at his dying suddenly like that?”
“Oh, yes, I was. You see, it wasn’t as though he was in bed or anything like that. There he was walking about one minute and dead the next. I think the doctor was a bit surprised too. Dad didn’t seem to have had a particularly tiring day, but then, as he said to me, we none of us knew what he might have been at, might have had a car breakdown and lifted something heavy. We never knew.”
Clara came round from the side of the house and shouted, “Supper.” Miss Rose laid down her sewing and got to her feet. Nicholas put a hand on Judy’s arm and drew her back. He spoke in a whisper.
“See if you can manoeuvre Miss Rose off somewhere after supper. I want to have a word on my own with Clara.”
It was rather a depressing meal, nor was there much to eat, so no one was sorry when Clara got to her feet.
“Well, I mustn’t sit here any longer. I’ve got something to do if nobody else has.”
Judy jumped at this opening.
“Nicholas, do take Mrs. Roal into the garden and give her a cigarette, she never stops working. Miss Rose and I’ll wash up.”
Clara opened her mouth to argue, but Nicholas took her firmly by the elbow.
“That’s a good idea. Come on, Mrs. Roal, won’t do you any harm to feel idle just for once in a way.”
Clara did not want to sit in the garden, but she had no good reason for refusing. She gave in with a rather ungraceful shrug.
“Well, it won’t hurt those two to do a bit of washing up, goodness knows. I won’t be able to sit long, though. Desmond hasn’t had his supper and I’ve got to put him to bed.”
They were crossing the lawn. Desmond was not in sight, but they could hear shrill, tuneless singing. Nicholas nodded in the direction of the sound.
“Have a heart! Don’t you remember what it was like to be in the garden on a summer’s evening? With all the queer magic that there is on a summer’s night, and to hear ‘Come along now, time for bed’.” He guided Clara to her chair and gave her a cigarette. “And then, upstairs in your nursery, looking out of the window at a world where everything seemed to be allowed to be awake except you.”
Clara puffed at her cigarette.
“I was born in a town. I was the eldest of six, and I was thankful when I got a chance to get to bed. I had to lend a hand with the others first. We aren’t all born with silver spoons in our mouths, you know.”
“Judging by young Desmond’s singing over there he isn’t going to be glad to go to bed. You must be glad to be giving him so much better a time than you had yourself.”
He had started a train of thought in Clara’s mind. She spoke as if words were being pulled out of her.
“He’s got to have a good time. I always swore he should. On the morning when they sent for me because our home and the business was gone it was Desmond I thought of. It was a fine business, always worth a nice bit if you wanted to sell the goodwill and all. The wardens wanted to stop me going in, there was a bit of the shop still standing, and they were afraid it might collapse, but I had to go in. It seemed as though, if I didn’t force myself to see that everything was gone, I’d never believe it.”
“Did you lose everything?”
“Yes. Some funny bits were saved, you know. Cakes of soap, cotton wool. Some of it I found lying about that first morning. I just had to pick things up, I . . .” she broke off. “Oh, here am I rambling along, don’t know what made me talk about it, I never do.”
“It’s the shock of your husband’s grandmother’s death, I expect.”
Clara gave Nicholas an almost laughing look.
“That was no shock. She’d had her threescore years and ten and then out, that’s only fair. You don’t want old people cluttering up the world, do you?”
“I don’t know. Some old people I’m no end fond of. The little I saw of Mrs. Former I liked very much. Still, Judy tells me she’d never been herself since the dog died.”
Clara got up.
“He was old, too. If there’s one thing worse than an old human being it’s an old dog. Smelly, greedy, nothing but sentiment keeping them about, if you ask me.” She threw her cigarette on the lawn and ground it into the grass with her heel. “Good night, Mr. Parsons, I must go and give my boy his supper.”
Nicholas left soon after that. Judy walked with him as far as the gate.
“Did you get anything out of Clara?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to think and perhaps it’ll lead me somewhere. I’m going down to Doctor Mead now. I’ve had a bit of an idea. I’m going to get him to recommend a holiday for Miss Rose, then she can go to Mother and, meanwhile, you can come to The Bull.”
“That’ll cause a nice scandal. There won’t be a soul in the works who doesn’t know for a fact that I sleep with you every night.”
Nicholas put an arm round her shoulders.
“Well, The Bull or somewhere. Now, hop along back and go to bed early, you look tired, and, besides, the sooner you all get to bed and lock the back door the sooner can Mr. Nick Parsons doss down in the outhouse.” He turned to go and then came hack. “By the way, here’s something for you.” He felt in his inside pocket and brought out a whistle. “I’ve had this since I was a kid. It makes a particularly sharp and penetrating noise. I’d know it anywhere. Blow it like hell if you want me.”
Judy took the whistle.
“Thank you, but I can’t see why I’ll ever blow it. Post-mortems can’t be wrong, can they?”
“I don’t know, Judy, my pet, it’s one of the things I’ve got to think about. Good night.”
Judy watched him out of sight, then she gave the whistle an affectionate little kiss. It was nice to think she owned something that belonged to Nicholas when he was a child. It was nice to think that it was there to blow if ever she should want to.
Doctor Mead was in his garden smoking a pipe and admiring his vegetables. He had treated Nicholas for one or two minor illnesses and got to like him. He nodded at him cheerfully.
“Hullo, young man! How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. It’s not about myself that I’ve come this time. I’ve got a girl-friend at the works.”
Doctor Mead tucked some stray pieces of tobacco into his pipe.
“Judy Rest. A doctor hears all the gossip, you know.” He gave Nicholas a sharp glance. “What’s wrong with the kid?”
“Nothing, but she’s anxious about Miss Former. She wants you to recommend that Miss Former should go away for a change, and if you could do that I’d get my mother to have her.”
Doctor Mead went on fidgeting with his pipe. His head was down, and Nicholas could not see the expression on his face, but he suspected it was more serious than the rather deliberately casual tone.
“And why is Judy Rest anxious about Miss Former?”
“She thinks she’d be better away for a bit.”
Doctor Mead looked up and fixed his eyes on Nicholas.
“By that does she mean away from Clara Roal?”
“I should say that sums it up nicely.”
“Well, you tell Judy Rest that the sooner that she and Miss Rose are out of that house, or the sooner that Miss Rose sends Clara and her boy packing, the better I’ll be pleased.”
“But you have rather a high opinion of Mrs. Roal, haven’t you? It was you who put the old lady into her hands.”
Doctor Mead laid a hand on Nicholas’ arm.
“True, and it’s not a thing I intend to discuss. But I admit now frankly to you, whom I know I can trust, that I’ve been very disturbed about that house. You know, of course, I went so far as to order a post-mortem.”
“And she died a natural death.”
“She was a diabetic, as you know, but the insulin was balancing that up all right.”
“There was nothing else in unexpected quantities?”
“Nothing whatsoever. I didn’t do the job myself. I was there and, believe me, I had a very careful look. If there’d been a thing wrong I’d have got an order to have the old man exhumed. He went just the same way, you know. Had a bit of a heart, but I’d hoped it would last him for years, but, mind you, his heart was in a sufficiently bad state for me to take it for granted that he died of heart failure.”
“The dog went the same way. I had a private post-mortem on him.”
“The devil you did! I wish you’d come to me then if you had any suspicions.”
“The old boy died a natural death.”
“In fact, you were in the same position that I am now. You didn’t like it, but you hadn’t got anything on earth to put your finger on. Two old people and a dog die of old age. There’s nothing to link the three together. There’s no point in any of it, no earthly reason why, if anyone is going to be suspected, we should suspect the Roal woman. On the face of it, it would be more likely to be Miss Rose, she’d something to gain.”
“But do you suspect Clara?”
Doctor Mead shook his head.
“Suspect is too strong a word. There’s just one little circumstance which links the death of the two old Formers. In both cases the story of their ill-health was brought to me by that woman.”
Nicholas lit a cigarette and buried the match in a worm cast.
“But why should she want to do them in? They weren’t all that much of a trouble.”
“God knows. Matter of fact, between you and me, when I fixed up the post-mortem I had a bit of a look round for a motive, and I managed to run into the lawyer, John. Of course I didn’t explain what I wanted to know, but I managed to find out something. No matter if every Former died Clara never benefits.”
“What, not even after Miss Rose?”
“Not even after Desmond. There’s a little sum in cash for the boy’s education, and the rest goes into a trust which nobody can touch until he’s eighteen. If the boy dies the whole lot goes to charities and so on.”
“Then really, from Clara’s point of view, it was better to have old Former alive and making money. He’d have kept them, I suppose. Time enough to push the family off the earth when Desmond was eighteen.”
“Exactly.”
Nicholas turned to go.
“All the same, you’d sleep a lot more comfortably in your bed if we could get Miss Rose miles away.”
The doctor nodded.
“I certainly would.”
“But otherwise you are letting the situation alone?” Doctor Mead shrugged.
“What else can I do?”
Nicholas was turning to go, he paused a second. “Nothing, I suppose, as a doctor.”
Doctor Mead lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“You mean what as a man?”
“Yes.”
The doctor winked.
“I’ll give any support or help I can to a younger man who has a more personal interest.”
Nicholas smiled.
“Good. That’s what I came to find out. Good night.”