‘The room is much the same as when Mrs Ripley was alive,’ Mademoiselle Bertillon said, as she swung open the bedroom door and stepped back, allowing Tom and Fran to precede her. ‘Mrs Ripley’s personal things have been removed, of course. I assisted Miss Florence with all of that. The wardrobes and drawers are still empty, as Mr Ripley continues to use his own room.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Through there.’ Mademoiselle indicated a door in the wall beyond the double bed. ‘It is a much smaller bedroom, next door to this one, and it has its own separate door on to the landing as well.’
‘So Mrs Ripley used to lie on the chaise longue when she was feeling unwell?’
‘She did. It has been pushed back against the wall now, but it used to stand so.’ Mademoiselle indicated a more central position with a wave of her arm.
‘And I think Miss Florence mentioned a little table that was used when Mrs Ripley was unwell.’
‘This is it.’ Mademoiselle walked across and tapped her hand on a low rectangular table, which had also been placed against the wall. ‘Mrs Ripley would keep things to hand on there – her library book and the workbag where she kept her knitting and crochet – as well as using it for her meals.’
‘How about Mrs Ripley’s medicine? Was that kept on the table too?’ asked Fran.
‘Oh no. Mrs Ripley’s medicines were kept in the cabinet on the wall, above the washbasin.’
They all looked across at the cupboard in question – an ordinary white wooden cabinet, of the kind found in many bathrooms.
‘I suppose the cabinet has been cleared out too?’ This from Tom.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘What happened to Mrs Ripley’s medicine bottles?’
‘They were all washed out and thrown away. There was no reason to keep them. They were prescribed only for Mrs Ripley, and there were no suspicions then about the way she had died.’
‘Were there quite a lot of different medications in the cupboard?’
‘Not very many. There was always a tin of Andrews Liver Salts. Some permanganate of potash. Cough syrup from the previous winter, and some Zam-Buk as Mrs Ripley was a martyr to her chilblains. I remember there was some tooth powder, and some oil of cloves for toothache. And of course a little tin of aspirins.’
‘But so far as you know, she was not taking any of these things when she died, only the one lot of medicine prescribed by Doctor Owen?’
‘Just that, yes.’
‘And she had eaten the same as you had for lunch?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did everyone have to drink with their lunch that particular day?’
‘Only water. Mrs Ripley would have taken a cup of weak tea after her lunch – she never drank coffee when she was under the weather – but she never got as far as the tea, because she was taken ill before it was made.’
‘She was supposed to take her medicine at lunchtime, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did anyone see her take it?’
‘No. I carried her tray upstairs and fetched the medicine from the cupboard for her myself and placed it on the table, but no one sat with Mrs Ripley while she ate her lunch that day. She was still fussing about with her slippers when I went downstairs to join Miss Florence in the dining room, so I did not see her take the medicine either.’
‘I see the chaise longue is on casters,’ Tom said. ‘Will you just humour me a moment further, mademoiselle? I’d like to move the chaise longue back to where it was standing on the day Mrs Ripley died.’
Before anyone could question the suggestion, Tom swung into action, wheeling the chaise longue across the polished wooden floorboards and then manoeuvring it on to the central rug before seeking directions from the governess in order to get the location just right. After that, he performed a similar operation with the small table and then asked Fran to sit with her feet up on the chaise longue.
‘Sorry about this,’ Tom said. ‘I’m just trying to get a complete picture in my mind. Now then, Mademoiselle Bertillon, can you just go across and stand facing the washbasin, if you wouldn’t mind?’
The governess, looking a little puzzled, complied.
‘Can you open the cupboard, mademoiselle? Yes, that’s right. Just stand there a moment longer, if you would be so kind.’ Tom stepped behind the sofa and momentarily adopted a crouching position, which brought his line of vision pretty much on a par with Fran’s. Then standing upright again, he said, ‘Thank you ladies, that’s most helpful. Don’t worry, I will soon have everything back where it was before.’
When Tom had finished rearranging the furniture, they returned with mademoiselle to the study, where, just as they had done with Florence Ripley, they took her step by step through what she remembered about the last days of Mrs Ripley’s life.
When it came to the question of summoning Mr Ripley, the doctor and the vicar, Mademoiselle Bertillon admitted that she was now confused as to the order in which the various calls had been made. ‘I was … what is the expression? Outside myself with worry. To begin with, Martha and I were trying to calm and comfort poor Mrs Ripley. She kept on asking when the doctor would be there. She had great faith in Doctor Owen, you see, but then she collapsed and seemed to barely understand what we were saying, and it was then that I feared she might be dying and I thought of sending for the priest.’
‘Reverend Pinder had not been to see her previously?’ asked Fran.
‘Oh, no. But now I wondered, do the Church of England administer the last rites in the way we in the Roman Catholic faith would do? I had never been engaged in a household where there had been a death before, so I took Martha aside and asked her, “Should we send for the priest?”’
‘And what did Martha say?’
‘She was no help. She said, “I don’t rightly know”. The servants, they are no use in situations like these. They are not used to making the decisions or thinking for themselves.’
‘So you asked Miss Florence?’ Tom suggested.
‘No. Miss Florence was upset and frightened enough already by what she had seen. I was trying to keep her calm and find her things to do outside the sickroom. I decided for myself that it was best to send for the priest. I told Martha to go downstairs and send Binks.’
‘Now you also decided to send for Mr Ripley,’ Tom said. ‘It was you who telephoned the bank, wasn’t it?’
‘It was. Normally I would never disturb Mr Ripley at the bank, but this was an emergency.’
‘Who did you speak with?’
‘I spoke with Miss Rose.’
‘On both occasions?’
The governess looked startled, but she recovered herself quickly. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘On both occasions.’
‘When we first talked with you about this, I think you only mentioned telephoning once.’ Tom spoke quietly.
‘I must have forgotten to mention the first call. You must understand, Mr Dod, that there was great anxiety and confusion. I was upset for my mistress and trying to ease her suffering as much as possible, and at the same time trying not to distress Miss Florence. Martha was coming and going, there were calls to be made, and a hundred and one things seemed to be happening all at once. It is very hard now, all these months later, when I have tried to put those horrible things out of my head, to remember, did this thing happen first or was it that thing?’
‘Of course, of course, we do understand how difficult it must be,’ Tom said quickly. ‘Thank you so much for your help. I think we should see Miss Rose next, don’t you?’