Reverend Pinder included Mr Hargreaves in the intercessions for the sick during the Parish Communion service next morning. Dr Owen was sitting alongside his sister in a front pew, and Tom was able to speak with him afterwards and ascertain that he had high hopes of Mr Hargreaves pulling through.
‘He regained consciousness, but he was in a lot of pain and rather inclined to ramble. The fall has knocked him for six, of course – bruises everywhere, as well as that very nasty bump on the head – so I’ve given him a good, large dose of dope. That way he will get plenty of rest and give his body a proper chance to recover.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of us having a chat with the poor old chap?’
The doctor was emphatic. ‘Not a hope, I’m afraid. He needs complete rest in order to have the best possible chance of recuperating. In any case, he’ll be pretty much out of it, thanks to the morphine. Even if he did say anything to you, you wouldn’t be able to rely on it. None of my business, of course, but why the interest in talking to Mr Hargreaves, anyway?’
‘We thought he might have a theory,’ Fran interposed. ‘He was another signatory of the letter to the bishop, you see.’ She glanced around hastily to check there was no one else within earshot. ‘The letter signed by Mr Vardy, Miss Tilling and Mrs Ripley that so annoyed Reverend Pinder.’
‘Dear me.’ Dr Owen shook his head. ‘You really are clutching at straws, aren’t you?’ He lifted his hat to them, then turned to walk away.
In the meantime, Tom had spotted Mademoiselle Bertillon and Florence Ripley.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what can be fixed up for this afternoon.’
The two women were waiting for Binks to arrive with the family car and appeared to be in the process of some kind of disagreement. ‘Well, I hate the way people are watching us all the time. I don’t know why you’re so keen on coming here, anyway. Why can’t we go to your church, then you can take communion and I’ll watch?’
‘Now, Miss Florence, that is not the way things are going to be. People here have shown you the utmost kindness.’
‘Excuse me, Miss Ripley, Mademoiselle Bertillon.’ Tom lifted his hat.
‘Mr Dod. Good morning.’
‘Mrs Black and I were wondering if we might come and ask you some more questions this afternoon. And also whether it would be possible to contact Miss Rose for a further interview?’
‘Miss Rose’s landlady is being rather difficult about telephone calls, but I’m sure we can get a note to Miss Rose asking her to come round this afternoon for tea,’ Florence said, glancing at her governess as she spoke and receiving a nod of confirmation. ‘As for ourselves, we are completely at your disposal, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tom. ‘Shall we say three o’clock? That will allow us all plenty of time to get Sunday lunch out of the way.’
Fran wondered who would be employed as the messenger to Miss Rose, thinking that the fleet-of-foot Jack Snook would make an ideal candidate if the distance was short.
Whoever had been chosen for the mission, the summons had evidently worked, for Miss Rose arrived ahead of them and was already seated in the drawing room, along with Florence and Mademoiselle Bertillon, when Tom and Fran were shown in.
Mutual pleasantries were exchanged. Fran asked after the progress of Florence’s aunt and was told that she had managed to book a passage and was now on a ship, two days out of Cape Town. In response to a further enquiry from Tom, Mademoiselle Bertillon told them that young Geoffrey was still at school, as there seemed nothing to be gained from bringing him home at this stage. ‘He is far better at school, where he will be fully occupied,’ mademoiselle said firmly. ‘And now Mrs Black, Mr Dod, how is it that we can be of help?’
‘Since we have been asking different people about what happened to Mrs Ripley, a few new questions have arisen. These things might turn out to be useful clues or might turn out to be nothing at all, but if we could ask each of you in turn to think back and tell us what you remember on various points, it may help to resolve things.’
‘I assume it’s going to be separate interviews and no conferring,’ Florence said. ‘I’ll go first, shall I?’
Privately Tom and Fran had previously agreed a different order of priorities, but Florence was already on her feet, so Tom said, ‘Yes, of course. Are we using your father’s study again?’
However, once they were seated in the now-familiar room, Florence’s apparent enthusiasm to be of assistance evaporated at once. She stared at the rain cascading down the window panes and said without looking at them, ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it? Going over the same things again and again.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Fran tried to sound a note of optimism. ‘Sometimes going through things again, you come across something that you missed first time.’
‘A sort of key to the whole mystery?’
‘You could put it that way, yes.’
‘But you haven’t found the key so far?’ As Florence turned back to face them, Fran noted the clear hint of reproach in the girl’s tone.
She remembered Mademoiselle Bertillon telling her that Florence Ripley was not a particularly patient young lady.
‘Shall we start with one or two matters that need to be cleared up following on from what various other people have said to us?’ Tom suggested. ‘First, were you ever aware of anyone threatening your family? Your father in particular, or maybe even your mother?’
Florence shook her head. ‘Don’t you think I’d have told you right at the start if there had been anything of that kind?’
‘Have you ever heard of anyone called Pascoe?’ Tom refused to be ruffled.
‘Of course I have. There are people in the village called Pascoe. He sometimes used to walk his dog past our gate and let it do its unmentionables there, until Mr Binks threatened to tip a bucket of water over him.’
‘Did you know that your father had refused Mr Pascoe an overdraft or a loan?’
‘Daddy never talked about business at home.’
‘So you didn’t know that Mr Pascoe had made some threats against your father.’
‘No. Haven’t I already said so?’
For someone who had initially expressed willingness to be questioned, Florence had abruptly transformed into a most reluctant subject.
‘I know it’s difficult and painful,’ Tom went on patiently, ‘but I’m going to ask you to cast your mind back again to the period of your stepmother’s final illness. She became ill after the luncheon party and Doctor Owen was called. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Doctor Owen wasn’t called right away. At the end of the meal we went into the drawing room for coffee and my stepmother commented that she was feeling unwell and would have to go and lie down. She said her farewells to the guests and went upstairs. Everyone just thought it was one of her usual turns and no one actually suggested calling a doctor. It got rid of the Craigs anyway – they were fearful old bores – and once they’d finished their coffee and been seen off, Daddy went up to see that Mummy was all right. (I used to call her Mummy, even though she wasn’t my real mother.) When he came back down, he said that Mummy thought she would like to have Doctor Owen and he went into the hall and telephoned. I heard him say it was a touch of the usual trouble and nothing urgent, and Doctor Owen turned up a bit later and went up to see her in her room. I think he was having a busy day, because it was his sister, Mrs Smith, who dropped off some medicine later on in the afternoon. I happened to be crossing the hall when she turned up and asked after my mother, and I told her she was already much improved.’
‘And was she?’
‘Was she what?’
‘Already much improved?’
‘Of course.’ Florence tossed her head. ‘I wouldn’t have said so, otherwise. Daddy had sent out specially for some of that ginger cordial she liked and everyone had been making the usual fuss of her generally, and of course the tiresome visitors had gone too, which was enough to cheer anyone up.’
‘So what happened next?’
‘Well, nothing very much. We all had supper as usual, though I think Mummy only had a little bread and butter. Daddy went up to her room and read to her for a while. Then we all went to bed. Next day was just as usual, too. I remember that Doctor Owen came again. In the afternoon I played the piano for Mummy and mademoiselle read to her. In the evening, Daddy played cards with her and let her win, which always pleased her immensely. Oh, yes, and I remember her telling mademoiselle to be sure to tell Cook that from the following day she was to have small portions of the same things everyone else was having, rather than the white fish and milk puddings she’d had that day. The police particularly wanted to know what she’d been eating and drinking,’ Florence added, by way of an afterthought.
‘So on that final day, when she suddenly became so ill and died, Mrs Ripley had eaten absolutely nothing except the same food and drink that everyone else in the house had?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What about the ginger cordial?’ asked Fran.
‘Funnily enough, although Daddy got it in specially for her, she said she didn’t fancy any just then and it got put away in the pantry. Annie found it weeks later, standing unopened on a top shelf and it sent her into floods. I expect it’s still there. No one except Mummy ever drank the stuff, you see.’
‘What about her medicine?’ asked Tom.
‘Well, that’s what the police think it was,’ said Florence. ‘You see, it would have been very difficult to slip a large dose of arsenic into the food while it was being prepared in the kitchen without us all getting poisoned as well – and we weren’t even a little bit ill, any of us. And it would have been pretty difficult to get anything into the food once it was on the plate and being carried up to Mummy’s bedroom.’
‘Whereas if you added poison to the medicine, you could do it at any time between doses, knowing that only one person would take it,’ Fran finished for her. ‘How often did the medicine have to be taken?’
‘One dose each mealtime and a final spoonful with a milky drink at night.’
‘So on the last day Mrs Ripley had her breakfast then took her medicine, and she seemed to be all right during the morning?’
‘So far as I know. I popped my head in first thing after breakfast, and Daddy slipped in to say goodbye before he went off to the bank. I had to do lessons with mademoiselle until the middle of the morning, then I saw Mummy again for a few minutes just before lunch and she was doing some crochet and seemed perfectly cheerful. After that, I ate my lunch with mademoiselle in the dining room. Mummy had hers carried upstairs. She had a special little table that was just the right height for when she was sitting on the chaise longue, so that all she had to do was swivel round and pop her feet into her slippers.’
‘Who took her lunch up that day?’
‘I believe mademoiselle did. To save the servants the extra work.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘We hadn’t even finished our lunch when there was a commotion. We heard Mummy’s bell ringing repeatedly – and although we could hear Martha charging up the stairs, mademoiselle and I went up too to see what on earth was going on. Poor Mummy had been violently sick. It was horrible – she just went on and on being ill. Mademoiselle and Martha tried to attend to her and I ran downstairs and rang for Doctor Owen, but his sister told me that he was out helping to deliver a baby. She asked if it was urgent and I said yes, I thought so, and she said she would get a message to him to come as soon as possible.
‘Mummy carried on being horribly ill – I’m not sure how long it went on for, but it seemed like ages, and eventually she just sort of collapsed. Mademoiselle ran downstairs and telephoned Doctor Owen again, and when his sister said he still hadn’t come home, mademoiselle asked where he was and then telephoned the Cannings’ house, but I don’t believe she managed to speak with the doctor himself. All we got was another message saying he’d be with us as soon as he could.’
‘From what Doctor Owen has told us, I believe that Mrs Cannings’ life was also in danger,’ Fran put in quietly.
‘Oh, yes, one doesn’t blame Doctor Owen – and anyway, I don’t think he could have saved Mummy by getting here any sooner.’
‘I know it must be painful for you, but can you remember what happened after that?’
‘Mademoiselle didn’t want me to come back in the room. She said she and Martha would tend to Mummy and I was to wait downstairs, watching for Doctor Owen so he could be let in as soon as possible. I knew mademoiselle was trying to protect me from seeing anything horrid and … and … it probably sounds dreadful of me, but I was quite glad to get out of the bedroom and wait downstairs. Oh, yes …’ A new idea struck her. ‘I was also supposed to be looking out for Reverend Pinder. Mademoiselle sent Binks to fetch him too – either just before or just after she phoned for Doctor Owen.’
‘And did Reverend Pinder arrive quite quickly?’
‘I think so. It’s very hard to say how long things took. I wasn’t looking at the clock the whole time.’
‘Did Reverend Pinder arrive first, or Doctor Owen?’
‘Does it really matter?’ the girl asked crossly. ‘I’m pretty sure the vicar came first and then the doctor. I took him upstairs and then I shut the door and waited out on the landing. The next thing was Martha came out of the room and she was crying. I asked her what was happening and she said, “The mistress is in a very poorly way, Miss Florence. I think you should prepare yourself for the worst”. Then she gave me a hug. Martha has been with us for ages, so she’s very close to the family.’
‘And we understand that your mother died soon afterwards.’
‘Yes. Mademoiselle came out and took me by the hand and told me.’
‘Just a couple more details now,’ said Tom. ‘First of all, are you absolutely sure there were no visitors to the house that day?’
‘Absolutely sure. And the other thing?’
‘Did anyone suggest telephoning the bank to bring your father home?’
‘Oh, yes,’ the girl said. ‘I forgot to say that when mademoiselle tried to get Doctor Owen and sent Binks for the vicar, she also telephoned the bank and asked to speak with my father, but I don’t believe she spoke with him either. I remember her saying she’d had to leave a message for him too. Then after Mummy had actually died, I think it was Reverend Pinder who asked if anyone had broken the news to Daddy and mademoiselle said, “He is supposed to be on his way, but I will telephone the bank in case he is still there”. And she did. I don’t know what was said. I was with Martha and Annie in the kitchen at the time. Poor Annie was trying to make tea for everyone, and having to stop and wipe her eyes on her apron every few minutes.’
Tea again, Fran thought. People always need tea at times like these.
‘If that’s everything,’ Florence said, ‘shall I send in mademoiselle next?’
‘Before we talk with Mademoiselle Bertillon again,’ Fran said, ‘there is something else that might be helpful. Would it be possible to see the room where Mrs Ripley died?’
‘Of course.’ Florence rose at once. ‘I will get mademoiselle to show you while I see about the arrangements for tea and go to sit with Miss Rose. It would be impolite to leave her all alone.’