All Pinlock, and such of the rural area around who could manage to get in, attended Mrs. Former’s funeral. There had not been such local excitement since the war was declared. The Formers had been liked and respected locally, and Clara, with her managing ways, and her careful scrutiny of accounts and her attempt to get every bill reduced if only by a penny, was heartily disliked. The wildest rumours about her began to spread the moment it was known that the doctor had refused a death certificate. The chemist was supposed to have admitted selling her weed-killer. The vet, so the story ran, had sold her prussic acid to finish off Mr. Jones. The village woman, who came to Old House on Mondays to help with scrubbing and laundry, was supposed to have said that she had never dared touch a mouthful of food in that house, for she had always known what that Mrs. Roal was up to. It had been, therefore, a great disappointment to everybody when it was learnt that Doctor Mead had “found nothing”, but so high was interest aroused by that time that few would accept such a mundane ending of their local scandal. People found excuses for attending the funeral. “I just had to make time, I was fond of old Mrs. Former.”
“Of course I’ll have to go, Mr. Former was a friend of my husband’s. Poor man, he’d turn in his grave if he knew what was being said now.”
“Poor thing, I just feel I must make the time to be at the grave, for only a fortnight back I read in my teacup there was danger for an old woman, and I said to my daughter, ‘Mark my words, that’s Mrs. Former.’ I wondered then if I ought to go and warn her, and I never did and look what’s come.” Whatever their excuses and however truthful it was that they wanted to pay their respects to Mrs. Former, the large congregation at the funeral wanted to see how Clara was looking.
Any hope there was for a sensation was quenched as soon as the mourners arrived. It would have been impossible for anyone to look more correct, both in demeanour and clothes, than Clara. She had managed to turn Mrs. Former’s old black into something suitable, but by no means excessive. Deep mourning or undue grief would have been entirely out of place in a granddaughter by marriage, and there was none. She stepped up the aisle most gently and considerately shepherding Miss Rose, and with the other hand keeping a firm hold on Desmond. Not one person present could think of a criticism to make. Only Judy, who, as an inmate in the house, had been given time off from the works to attend the funeral, and who had been considered a chief mourner, knew just how staged the whole entrance was. She had heard poor old Miss Rose the night before. “I want Judy to sit next to me in church. You will, won’t you, Judy dear? It’s what Mother would have wished.” Clara had let that pass while Judy was about, but later that night Miss Rose, in floods of tears, had told Judy that it could not be. Clara had said that the front row of the church must be for family, that anything else would show disrespect. “There’ll be lots coming to the funeral, Judy dear. Mother was much liked. Clara’s right, I shouldn’t like anybody to think we weren’t showing proper respect.” Judy longed to say, “Nonsense, don’t believe the rubbish Clara talks,” but she knew that she would only make things worse for Miss Rose. All she had said was, “Of course, I quite understand, and I shall sit in the row behind you, and you’ll know I’m there if you should want me.”
It was while they were standing round the grave that Judy saw Mrs. White. She was too full of thoughts of Mrs. Former at that moment to think of anything else. Miss Rose was dropping earth and tears on the coffin, and Judy was remembering the old lady pleading, “You won’t leave us, Judy, will you?” She uttered a private prayer, “Oh, God, do let her have met Mr. Former and Mr. Jones, and let them be having a nice time together.”
After the funeral Judy did not get into the mourners’ car, for she had to get back to the factory. She was glad of the walk. The funeral had depressed her and she was thankful to be away from it. The late corn was being cut; there was a cheerful burr from the reapers and binders. As the wind touched the uncut com there was a flash of scarlet poppies. Scabious and harebells brushed against her ankles. Butterflies shot from flower to flower. There was life everywhere. It was wrong and foolish to go on sorrowing for an old lady who had lived her threescore years and ten and was perhaps glad to go. Her thoughts were disturbed by a pattering of feet behind her. Turning, she saw Mrs. White.
“My, talk about seven-league boots!” Mrs. White panted. “You don’t half stride along. I thought you might wait for me, we’re both going back to the works, I suppose.”
Judy’s mind shot away from Mrs. Former and came back to her promise to Nicholas. She had tried to find Mrs. White yesterday, but though she had seen her in the distance in the canteen she had not got near enough to have a talk, and now clearly this was her chance.
“How stupid of me! I might have thought of it, but my mind was miles away. I liked the old lady, you know, she was sweet to me.”
“Ah! You’ve said a mouthful there. If it had been only the old lady and Miss Rose, believe me, I’d have been at Old House, Longbottom Lane, to-day. They were just the kind of people I like. Needed looking after, grateful for any kindness, and I’m one that likes looking after people, especially people of their sort, grateful for anything. You know, I don’t mind telling you, I could have been knocked down with a feather when I heard that they’d cut the old girl open and found nothing.”
“It didn’t surprise me really. She had some soup the last thing with a sedative in it, and, of course, I couldn’t swear what there might have been in that, but I did see the insulin injection given, and I knew that was all right.” Judy paused a second thinking how to lead Mrs. White on to talk. She decided on frankness. “You know, everybody thinks there’s something queer about the way the old Formers have died, but, as a matter of fact, Clara hasn’t a thing to gain out of their dying. I mean, whoever else benefits, she doesn’t.”
“Who does then?”
“Miss Rose.”
They were passing a gate. Mrs. White broke away from Judy and leant against the gate rocking with laughter.
“Oh, forgive me, dear, but a funeral’s always taken me this way since I was a child. Go to a funeral and I act hysterical the same day. Oh, goodness! I don’t half ache! Miss Rose, indeed! Miss Rose doing anyone in! I’d as soon suspect a new-born babe.”
“All the same, she is the only person to gain, except that after her death everything comes to Desmond when he’s eighteen. Why should Clara want Mrs. Former to die? You must admit it would be a silly thing for her to do to cut herself and Desmond off from their free board and bed, as it were. Mrs. Former didn’t turn them out any more than Mr. Former did, but Miss Rose might. After all, Mr. Former had offered to make a home for his granddaughter by marriage and his great-grandson, and Mrs. Former was carrying on the same way. You must admit that Clara had everything to gain by their stopping alive.”
Judy’s words sobered Mrs. White. She took a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, offered one to Judy and lit one for herself.
“Now, don’t say a word for a minute or two, dear, you’ve set something going in my head and I can’t think what.” They walked along for quite a while in silence, then Mrs. White shook her head. “I can’t get it. It was something that flashed into my mind from something you said, and now it’s flashed out again. Can you think what you were saying and go back over it slowly?”
Judy tried to recall her words.
“I was saying that it would be silly for Clara to shut the door on hers and Desmond’s free board and bread. Then I said that Mr. Former hadn’t turned them out any more than Mrs. Former had done, but that Miss Rose might. That Mr. Former had offered to make a home for Clara and Desmond and . . .”
Mrs. White clutched her sleeve.
“That’s it. That’s what made me think. It was one Sunday not long before Mr. Former died. Mrs. Former and Miss Rose had gone to church and I was looking out of my window which, as you know, faces up to the gate. Mr. Former had gone out at the back to his kennels, and I suppose he found Clara there, for they began to talk. It was a still morning and I couldn’t help hearing what they said. At first I didn’t pay much attention and then afterwards I don’t mind confessing I eavesdropped. I was downright interested and that’s a fact! It was all to do with a Mr. Joseph Bloomfield. ‘By the way, Clara,’ Mr. Former said, ‘I’ve heard from Mr. Joseph Bloomfield. He agrees with me it’s the only thing to be done.’ Then Clara said, ‘Rubbish. It’s far too early yet to be sure of anything’.” Mrs. White gave Judy a nod. “That, of course, was when I started to listen. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘whatever’s been going on’.”
“What did Mr. Former say to that?”
“As far as I can remember he said, ‘I’m sorry for you, my girl, but it won’t do any good not to face facts. I’ve faced facts all my life and I can promise you that no harm ever came of it. Nothing but good, it’s the only way to live’.”
“And what did Clara say?”
“She said, ‘I refuse to admit it’s a fact, and you can’t make me.’ Then Mr. Former said – and that’s why your saying that Mr. Former offered to make a home for Clara and Desmond put me in mind of the conversation – ‘Oh, yes, Clara, my girl, I can make you. I’m still the piper, and the piper calls the tune. I know what’s right and I mean to see it done, and you don’t stop on in this house unless it’s done, and, what’s more, not one penny of my money goes where you know it’s going unless you do things as I say.’ They said no more, and a minute later Clara passed under the window. I popped back, not wanting her to see I’d been listening, but not before I’d seen her face. She wouldn’t have noticed me though, and for once I was dead sorry for her. Her face was as white as a sheet and she was crying.”
Judy chewed over this conversation in her mind. Who on earth was Mr. Joseph Bloomfield? What had Mr. Joseph Bloomfield agreed with Mr. Former was the only thing to be done? What on earth had Clara got to face? Whatever it was, she had to face it or be turned out and let Desmond lose his inheritance. Then there was a motive. One thing was certain, she must see Nicholas as quickly as possible, and she must somehow put Mrs. White off thinking that what she’d remembered was evidence against Clara. Mrs. White would talk, and talk just now might hinder Nicholas. She spoke in a deliberately amused voice.
“I know what that conversation sounds like, but I shouldn’t think it was anything like that. Clara looks the soul of respectability to me. Anyway, it’s certain that she did face facts, which I suppose included Mr. Joseph Bloomfield, because she went on living in the house and there was no row about her or Mrs. Former would have known.”
Mrs. White dug Judy in the ribs.
“Say what you like, but there’s something very queer about Clara Roal, and I’m not the only one who thinks that. I don’t want to see anybody had up for murder, but I must say if I had to pick and choose Clara’d be my first choice.”
Nicholas and Judy left the factory together. They settled themselves under the tree where they had once picnicked with Mrs. Former and Miss Rose. Nicholas took out a piece of paper and a pencil.
“Now, have I got this right? In answer to your statement that Clara had a great deal to lose and nothing to gain by the deaths of the Formers, Mrs. White said that Mr. Former said that somebody called Mr. Joseph Bloomfield agreed with him that something or other was the only thing to be done, to which Clara replied with the rather curious statement that it was far too early to be sure of anything. A remark, one must admit, which sets the cleanest mind considering a delicate possibility. Then Mr. Former said that Clara ought to face facts, to which she replied that she refused to admit it was a fact, whereupon old Former said that as he paid the piper he called the tune, and that unless what he wanted to be done was done, she not only would not stop on in the house but not one penny of his money would go where she thought it was going. In fact, a proper scene out of a melodrama. ‘Leave this house and never darken its doors again, and not one penny of mine will ever come your way’.”
Judy leant against the tree-trunk.
“Allowing for a certain fertility of thinking on your part, that roughly was what she said.”
“In other words, the motive. In a back to front way this answers my question three. I said, if Clara is never going to benefit by the will why should she want the Formers out of the way? The answer to that seems to be that she wanted Mr. Former out of the way because she believed he was going to force her to some course of action that she didn’t want to take, and if she didn’t do as he directed, he was going to alter his will, which would mean that her boy would never inherit. In fact, as pretty a motive as you could wish to find, but all hanging on the uncorroborated evidence of Mrs. White.”
Judy leant forward and studied the paper in Nicholas’ hand.
“I suppose Mr. Joseph Bloomfield would corroborate if one could find him.”
Nicholas offered Judy a cigarette.
“A woman is usually much cleverer about women than a man. Would you say it was possible to read into that conversation Mrs. White overheard that Clara was going to have a baby?”
Judy shook her head.
“Most unlikely. To begin with, who was the father? And, from another point of view, if there was a man in her life, why, if she got rid of Mr. Former, should he disappear? I mean, quite obviously if it was that sort of reason, once Mr. Former was out of the way Clara could have gone on with her love-affair. There is also the question – where’s the baby?”
“Well, Clara may have been right when she said it was far too early to be sure of anything.”
Judy flicked some cigarette ash off the end of her cigarette.
“I don’t believe it’s possible. None of it sounds like Clara.”
“I know,” Nicholas agreed, “but, on the other hand, it’s the most obvious motive in the world. If you were to look through the histories of women murderesses I’d take a bet that the majority did their victims in because of a love-affair, and often the victim was the person who discovered the love-affair. What you might call a respectability murder.”
“Well, if you’re right, Mr. Joseph Bloomfield is a gynaecologist and he runs some sort of home in which babies are born, and in that case what Mr. Former said was that Mr. Joseph Bloomfield was certain that Clara was going to have a baby, and since they didn’t want a local scandal, the only answer was that she should go away, presumably to Mr. Bloomfield’s home.”
Nicholas got to his feet and held out a hand.
“Come along, sweet. You’ve hit the nail on the head. Mr. Joseph Bloomfield is a gynaecologist, in which case he’s in the medical register and our Doctor Mead will have a medical register.”
Judy looked at her watch.
“It’s sickening but I can’t come with you. It’s my supper-time and I mustn’t be late. You go on your own and I’ll pay another evening visit to you to hear the answer.”
Nicholas looked annoyed.
“Blast that house! Even if it wasn’t kept by a possible murderess it’s sickening the way you’ve always got to be in for something or other. Why not come and have supper with me at The Bull?”
Judy was enormously tempted, but she resisted it.
“I’d love it. Oh, goodness, I’d love it! Supper away from Clara. But I can’t. Poor old Miss Rose will be in the depths to-night after her mother’s funeral.”
Nicholas put an arm round her.
“I dislike being personal, but I must admit you really are the nicest girl I ever knew. See you to-night.”
It was nearly midnight when Judy slipped into the outhouse. Nicholas grabbed her arm.
“I thought you were never coming.”
Judy spoke in a whisper.
“It’s been a risk. I believe Clara has been investigating Desmond’s story about the way you arrive. Anyway, I’m certain she’s suspicious of something, so I simply had to wait until I was certain she must be asleep. And, incidentally, will you please notice after your rudeness the other night that I’m fully dressed in slacks and a shirt, or rather you can’t see that I am, but I’ll tell you so that you don’t come all over Victorian and anxious. Did you find Mr. Bloomfield?”
“No. The wretched fellow is not a doctor. I had to wait half an hour for Doctor Mead; he’s got a medical directory all right, but we couldn’t find him anywhere. There’s just one queer thing, Doctor Mead knew his name. He said he was perfectly certain that he’d heard it somewhere. He thinks it’ll come back to him and then he’ll let me know.”
Judy laid a hand on his arm.
“Do you hear anything?”
Nicholas grew tense.
“Yes. Get in the corner.” He stood beside her with an arm round her. He put his lips to her ear. His voice was hardly a breath. “If she’s got a torch and looks in she’ll see my mattress. Do you think she’s been to your room?”
Judy pulled his ear to her mouth.
“I’ve left a lump in the bed that might be me. Sssh!” They clung together, their ears straining. If Clara was outside she was moving with extreme caution. There were faint sounds which might be footsteps, and then nothing. Suddenly there was a creak and the door began to open. It remained open for what seemed to Judy and Nicholas an eternity. Then it was closed again. They still said nothing, but waited until once more they heard the sound of the back door.
Nicholas mopped his forehead.
“My word! That was a near thing! It was a miracle she hadn’t got a torch. I thought every second I was going to sneeze.”
“I’d almost be thankful if she had caught us. I may tell you I think absolutely nothing of going back into that house. I’ll get the horrors feeling she’s going to pop out somewhere.”
“What do you suppose she wanted?”
“To catch the two of us together, I should think. The most perfect way of getting rid of me, which we know she wants to do. She’s only got to report to Mrs. Edwards that I’m no better than I should be and I’ll be out of the house in three minutes.”
Nicholas still had his arm round her.
“Is there a ladder on the place?”
“Yes. Down by the apple trees.”
“Then, my love, in due course I shall fetch it. You can’t go back through that creaking back door. You’ll have to get in by your window.”
Judy giggled.
“What a story it sounds! What a bad character she could make me out if she saw me come in.”
Nicholas, in the darkness, found her chin and turned her face to his.
“Seems a pity that you should be accused of goings-on for nothing. Would a kiss come amiss?”