She walked down the path and out into the quiet village street.
Darkness had come by now, broken only by the lights in windows, most of them closely curtained, and by the few street lamps under the elms. The sky was starless, covered in low cloud. It was cold, with a sharp wind blowing.
Fanny tightened her coat about her, but she did not hurry to keep warm. She was not going anywhere in particular. She had come out simply to give herself a chance to take a firm hold on a thought that had come to her while Clare had been speaking. If Kit had not been in the room she would not have come out at all. But Kit’s presence had made it impossible to discuss her thought with Clare and Basil, and to have remained there with them, pretending to think about something else, would not have been possible to Fanny.
Walking along slowly, talking quietly to herself, she put her thought in order. It was an astonishingly reassuring thought, for it lifted the load of guilt from her shoulders. In a way, it did even more than this. It convinced her that her feelings, her intuitions were reliable. It put her back on terms with her own nature that she could understand. For the first time since hearing of the death of Sir Peter, she felt like herself.
Besides this, she felt suddenly at peace with her surroundings. Guilt had made her feel that this small, pleasant world of hers, which was extremely dear to her, had turned, had had the right to turn, against her. But this evening it was her friend once more, accepting her and supporting her.
Walking on to the point where the houses of the village ended, she hesitated there, then went on a little farther down a narrowing lane. She knew the way so well that she hardly noticed the darkness. The roughness of the ground under her feet and the shadowy pattern of the hedges against the sky were familiar. But the wind cut more keenly here and after a few minutes she turned back. She walked more rapidly now as the comforting remembrance came to her that after all there was someone with whom she could talk over her precious thought. She knew where to find him, too, at that hour. Walking on past the gate of her own home, she turned in at the doorway of The Waggoners.
There was perhaps just a moment of silence in the bar as she entered. It was the first time that she had come in there since the day of her disastrous party. But after that first moment she was greeted with the usual good evenings, and Colin Gregory, in his accustomed corner, asked her what she would have to drink. As she sat down beside him, he added, ‘Glad to see you coming out of mourning, Fanny. How are things?’
‘Fine,’ she answered. ‘Just fine, Colin.’
The sound of the slow, country voices in the room, the crackle of the big fire, the snug familiarity of it all, wrapped her round in reassurance and calm.
Colin looked at her thoughtfully.
‘Something’s happened,’ he said. ‘You really do look better.’
She nodded and smiled. Sipping her drink, she felt that it was the first that she had actually enjoyed for days. ‘I didn’t kill Sir Peter,’ she said.
‘You fail to surprise me,’ Colin said. ‘No one but you ever thought you did.’
‘Oh, they did,’ she said. ‘They must have. They didn’t think I’d done it on purpose, but they thought it was my fault. I could feel it.’
He shook his head. ‘You just felt what you were thinking yourself. It’s a good sign that you’ve changed your mind. What made it happen?’
‘Simply finding out how Sir Peter really was killed,’ she answered.
‘Simply that?’
‘Don’t laugh at me,’ she said. ‘I do know. I haven’t decided what to do about it yet, but at least I know how it was done and that it wasn’t by my own muddling and bungling. I know who did it too.’
‘Who, then?’
‘Laura.’
He went on looking at her steadily for a moment without saying anything. It was a good-humoured look but sceptical. It spurred her on, more than further questioning would have done, to explain herself.
‘She didn’t mean to kill him,’ she said, ‘any more than I did. I was the person she meant to get at. I don’t mean she meant to poison me, but she meant to hurt and humiliate me. You see, she’s tremendously jealous of me because of Kit. She thinks I’m going to try and hold on to him. She thinks I’m going to keep him here in this job I made for him and make him go on living with Basil and me. I suppose that’s all my fault because I didn’t make it clear to her when she came here that I only wanted to help. If he can find some other job and wants to go away, I’d naturally never dream of interfering.’
‘And does he want to go away?’ Colin asked.
Fanny stirred uneasily.
‘I haven’t asked him directly and I don’t mean to,’ she said.
‘I see.’
She gave him a doubtful glance, then went on, ‘Really, Colin, I do know what I’m talking about. I’ve been thinking it out very carefully. I went for a walk by myself just now and thought it all out. You see, Laura has the peculiarity that she can’t taste some chemical or other with a name I can’t quite remember, but Basil can tell you all about it. And she found out that she had this peculiarity when she was at the university and volunteered as a guinea-pig in some experiment of Basil’s. The stuff’s got a frightful bitter taste to most people, but just a very few people can’t taste it at all. Her idea was to use it and a little arsenic to make my lobster taste foul and give everyone tummyaches, getting out of it all herself by having a phoney headache. But of course she made several mistakes. To begin with, she didn’t know how much of the stuff to use. Not being able to taste it at all herself, she probably thought she had to use a lot to be sure that other people could, and so she put in so much that in fact they could hardly swallow the stuff at all and so weren’t affected by the arsenic. And another mistake which she couldn’t have known about, was that there was another person at the party who couldn’t taste this stuff any more than she could. I gather that’s a very unlikely thing to happen, yet it can happen …’ She paused, seeing that look of reserve on Colin’s face that she generally connected with the idea of an unvoiced criticism. ‘You don’t think much of it,’ she said.
‘My mind’s quite open,’ he answered.
‘I don’t think it is,’ she said. ‘I think you think I’m talking rubbish.’
‘It’s just that it’s all a bit complicated,’ he said. ‘It would be so easy to make something taste a bit unpleasant without using this mysterious substance you’re talking about.’
‘Of course it would,’ Fanny said. ‘And perhaps she didn’t use it.’
He gave a slight shake of his head, ‘I don’t get it, I’m afraid.’
Fanny herself had only just thought of the point she was about to explain to him and she had to frown and purse her lips in a great effort to clear her mind before she went on.
‘Look,’ she said at length, ‘nobody knows that that stuff was actually used. But Laura’s going to go to the police and tell them that it was – that’s the whole point of the thing. She’ll tell them that and then tell them that Basil was the only person who knew about this peculiarity of hers – or – or perhaps she won’t actually go to them and tell them that, but she’ll threaten to, to try and make us do whatever she wants. Of course I don’t know quite what’s going on in her horrid little mind, but you’ll see, it’ll be something of that sort.’
She thought that at last she had made an impression on Colin. A frown appeared on his usually tranquil face and his eyes searched hers for a moment, as if he were trying to draw out of them something more than she had said. But then he said, ‘Fanny dear, have another drink.’
‘What’s wrong now?’ she said. ‘What have I said now that doesn’t make sense?’
‘It’s just that you’ve said a bit too much,’ he said. ‘Some of it might make sense without the rest of it.’
‘Such as which?’
‘Well, spoiling your party and your reputation as a cook by giving everyone a little pinch of arsenic in the lobster is one thing,’ he said. ‘But faking up a case of attempted murder against you and Basil is another.’
‘Well then,’ Fanny said, ‘the one I’ll stick to is the faking up a case of attempted murder against me and Basil.’
‘It’s evident,’ he said, ‘that you don’t really like the girl.’
The statement moved her to a fit of nervous laughter. Beginning quietly, it suddenly seemed to take a twitching hold of her muscles, so that she felt herself shaking and chuckling without any true sense of amusement. She saw heads turning towards her and eyebrows curiously raised, yet she could not stop until Colin, taking a hold of her wrist, tightened his grip on it till it hurt.
‘Listen,’ he said in her ear, ‘you’ve given me an idea and it isn’t a nice one.’
Though her laughter had stopped, Fanny was still breathless.
‘You mean,’ she said, ‘that she could plot … that she could actually …’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s nothing to do with Laura.’
‘That’s because you didn’t meet her,’ she said. ‘The moment I saw her, I thought – ‘
‘No,’ he said with some impatience, ‘don’t you see that if the girl had really plotted anything of the sort, she’d never have had that headache you think was phoney. She’d have been careful to be one of the victims herself.’
‘Except that her courage might have failed her.’
‘But then her whole scheme would have collapsed, because she’d have had to convince the police that you and Basil, having plotted to kill her in this extraordinarily elaborate way, and finding that your victim wasn’t even going to touch the poisoned lobster, could still have given the stuff to your other guests. That just won’t do, you know.’
‘But …’
‘No,’ he said, ‘come down to earth. Your first suggestion really opens up a lot more possibilities – that you were meant to be hurt and humiliated, and that’s all.’
Fanny gave a sigh. ‘The scheme worked then, didn’t it?’ she said. ‘The only trouble is – well, to be absolutely honest, I don’t quite see what Laura had to gain by doing that. The other scheme would have had a sensible object in its way. I mean, it would have given her something to blackmail me with. But just humiliating me … After all, Kit wasn’t likely to care for me less because I made a fool of myself at a party and cooked a rotten lobster.’
‘No, you’re quite right,’ Colin said.
‘Well then …?’
He did not answer. An absent look had settled on his face and although his eyes were again looking into hers, Fanny felt that this time he was hardly even seeing her.
The look disturbed her because in the mood that she was in, anything that she did not understand seemed capable of holding some menace for her. She stood up.
‘Anyway, thanks for listening,’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m a great listener.’
He stood up too and as she went to the door, followed her.
Out in the dark street, he went on, ‘I wonder if you’d listen now to a word of advice, Fanny. Don’t tell these ideas of yours to everyone you meet.’
‘Why, what d’you take me for?’ she said. Then after a moment she smiled. ‘Yes, I know, I do chatter, don’t I?’
‘Just a bit.’
‘And you think it might be libellous or something?’
He hesitated, then said cautiously, ‘Just possibly.’
‘All right,’ she said, ‘I won’t tell anyone but Basil. But you haven’t told me yet what your idea is, Colin.’
‘I haven’t got it thought out,’ he answered.
They walked along together. The wind had grown stronger and the tops of the elms were stirring and the boughs creaking over their heads. As they reached Fanny’s gate, Colin put a hand on her shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze, then went on to his own gate. As soon as he had separated from her, the look of absence and uncertainty on his face became one of hurried purpose. Going quickly up the path to the house, he let himself in and went in search of Jean.
He found her in the small, bare room that she used as an office. There was a pile of correspondence on the desk in front of her. She was looking tired but when he came in, she leant back in her chair, raised her face to him and smiled.
The smile vanished as soon as she saw his expression.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Jean,’ he said, ‘how dangerous a man is Tom Mordue?’
She merely looked blank at the question.
‘Tom Mordue,’ he repeated impatiently, as if he had expected her to know instantly what he was talking about. ‘Is he simply a crank with a streak of spite in him, or is he a really dangerous man?’
She frowned, trying to find the answer that he wanted.
‘I’ve always thought he was just a rather unhappy sort of crank,’ she said.
‘So have I,’ Colin said grimly, ‘but I’ve just been having a talk with Fanny and she’s put a new and unpleasant idea into my head.’
‘About Tom?’
‘She didn’t mean it to be about Tom. She was thinking of Laura Greenslade. But if someone suggested to you that Poulter’s death was the more or less accidental result of a piece of spite against Fanny, whom would you think of at once as the most spiteful person you know?’
‘But how could it have been – accidental?’ Jean asked.
‘If his death hadn’t been intended. If no one’s death had been intended. If all that was meant to happen was that Fanny’s guests should get sick and think that she’d given them some bad lobster.’
‘But that would mean …’ She stopped and her tired face looked drawn. ‘No,’ she said in a low voice, ‘no, you don’t think that seriously.’
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
‘That Tom should put arsenic into the lobster as a sort of revenge on the Lynams because of Kit’s engagement and then calmly watch while one man ate the lot?’
‘That’s why I asked you, is Tom a really dangerous man?’
‘A dangerous lunatic?’
‘If you like,’ he said.
She started to say something, checked it and went on looking at him intently, while Colin returned the look, still with that touch of impatience, as if he were waiting for some response from her that she had failed to give.
After a moment she said reluctantly, ‘I suppose he could have got into the Lynams’ kitchen without being seen.’
‘Easily,’ Colin said.
‘And he was here that afternoon. If he’d gone straight round there when he left us …’
‘Yes.’
‘And his state wasn’t normal. But …’ She was still trying to feel her way towards the answer that she could feel him demanding from her. ‘But the bitter taste, Colin. Why poison the food and then put in something to stop people eating it?’
‘Suppose,’ he said, ‘someone else added the bitter taste – having followed Tom and slipped into the kitchen as soon as he left.’
‘But who?’ she asked incredulously, yet with a feeling of horrified understanding.
‘Minnie would go through anything to protect Tom,’ Colin said. ‘If she’d known what he meant to do and couldn’t stop him – and she can never stop him doing anything he’s set his mind on – what might she think of doing to protect Fanny and in a way Tom himself, which, if it had worked out as she intended, wouldn’t have given him away to anyone?’
‘But that would have meant that Minnie as well as Tom knew what Sir Peter was eating, and that’s something I can’t believe.’
‘Can’t you?’ Colin said. ‘The odd thing is, I can. I can believe it easily, because I think all Minnie’s feelings are concentrated so completely on Tom that when she saw her scheme hadn’t worked – in fact, by some horrible accident had made things much worse than if she hadn’t interfered, actually turning Tom into a sort of murderer – she’d never have done anything to give him away. She’d have sat still like a fascinated rabbit, watching Poulter get all the poison. Come to think of it, what else could she have done?’
‘The horrible accident,’ Jean said, ‘being Sir Peter’s inability to taste whatever it was she used?’
‘Yes. There are people who can’t taste certain bitter things. I’ve just been hearing about it from Fanny, who’s been told about it by Basil. And it happens that Laura is one of those people, so she’s probably going to the police to tell them that Fanny and Basil tried to poison her, while Fanny’s trying to make out a case that Laura faked the whole thing herself, just in order to be able to do that.’
‘And couldn’t that – Fanny’s idea, I mean – possibly be true?’
‘I don’t think so. I think if it were, Laura would have taken care to get some of the arsenic herself.’
Jean nodded hesitantly, then turned away from him to look out of the window. To fit with the general bareness of the room, it was uncurtained and now, with the darkness beyond it, Jean could see herself clearly reflected in it, and, almost as clearly, Colin, as he stood, unusually tense and eager, near the door.
Addressing his reflection, she said, ‘You’ve been doing a lot of thinking about all this, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said in a rather flat tone.
‘And I thought you were being extraordinarily indifferent to Fanny’s troubles.’
‘For such a loving wife, you often get me wrong,’ he said.
‘I do,’ she said. ‘It’s true. What are you going to do now?’
‘Do?’ he said.
‘I thought you looked somehow as if you were going to do something or other.’
‘What do you think I ought to do?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk it all over with Basil.’
He shook his head. ‘D’you know something? One never gets anywhere by talking things over with Basil. He’s taken the art of helpfully saying nothing further than anyone else I know.’
‘Clare, then.’
‘She terrifies me.’
‘But you aren’t just going to sit back now and do nothing!’
‘You don’t trust the police to do their own jobs?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do. But all the same …’
He gave a laugh and at the sound of it Jean flushed and grew rigid. She said nothing and after a moment Colin went on, ‘You just want me to do something, don’t you, whether it’ll really be useful or not? Well, as a matter of fact, I was meaning to, though I’m not quite clear about its wisdom. If you’d suggested the same thing to me, I’d have felt a lot better about it.’
His hand went out to the door.
Jean turned her head quickly.
‘What are you going to do, Colin?’
‘Go and see the Mordues.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will that really do any good?’
‘For all I know,’ he said as he went out, ‘it may do harm.’