No Wind of Blame Read online

  As the police-car reached the gate, it had to wait to allow another car, on the road, to go past. The Sergeant remarked that it was Dr Chester’s Rover. ‘Dashing off to Palings, I wouldn’t wonder. By all accounts, Mrs Carter sends for him to hold her hand every time her little finger aches. I don’t envy him his job today.’

  ‘No,’ agreed the Inspector. ‘Nor me.’

  ‘It wasn’t him called in when Carter was shot, was it?’

  ‘No. Hinchcliffe. Chester was out on a case.’

  ‘I’ll bet he’s thanking his stars for it!’ said the Sergeant. ‘Fancy having to tell Mrs C. how he found her husband!’

  The Sergeant was quite right in thinking that the car was the doctor’s, and that the doctor was bound for Palings. A few minutes later he drew up outside the porch, and got out, stripping off the gloves he wore for driving, and tossing them into the car. The front door was still standing open, and he walked into the hall, encountering there Mary, who had just come down the stairs. She was looking pale, and worried, but her eyes lit up when she saw Chester, and she went quickly towards him, holding out her hands.

  ‘Oh, Maurice, I’m so glad you’ve come!’

  He took her hands, holding them firmly in his for a moment. ‘I couldn’t come sooner. I was in the middle of my surgery when Hinchcliffe rang up to tell me. How’s Ermyntrude?’

  ‘Awful!’ said Mary, with a shudder. ‘Lyceum stage. It’s no use frowning at me. You’ll see.’

  He looked critically at her. ‘You look as though you’re in need of my professional services yourself. I prescribe a stiff whisky-and-soda. See you take it!’

  ‘It’s not such a bad idea,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t seem to have had time to collect myself. I can’t even quite grasp what’s happened. It doesn’t seem possible!’

  ‘What did happen?’ he asked. ‘Hinchcliffe merely told me that White sent for him, and that he found Carter dead – shot on the bridge. Is anything known?’

  ‘No, nothing. There are only the most nightmarish possibilities. We had a Police Inspector here until a short time ago. It was – pretty ghastly. I always thought I was a level-headed sort of person, but I didn’t seem able to think things out a bit, and I’m afraid I made a perfect fool of myself. Hugh keeps on drumming it into me that I must tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but you know what a hopelessly wrong impression one can give by telling some truths!’

  ‘Hugh Dering? Is he here?’

  ‘No, not now. He was here when it happened, and he stayed, like the angel he is, until the Inspector left. Do you want to see Ermyntrude?’

  ‘Yes, where is she?’

  ‘Receiving consolation from the Prince in the drawing-room,’ she replied.

  ‘That fellow!’ Chester said, in a tone of disgust. ‘All right, show me in!’

  Ermyntrude was once more reclining on a couch, but by this time she had put on her corsets again, and, following her daughter’s example, a black tea-gown. A shaded lamp stood behind the couch, and beside her the Prince sat, upon a low chair, holding one of her hands in his, and talking to her in his soft, caressing way. When Mary opened the door, Ermyntrude sighed: ‘Oh, can’t I be left in peace ever?’ But when she saw Chester walk in, she exclaimed in a much more robust tone: ‘Oh, Maurice, if it’s not you! Oh, come in, come in! You’re the very person I want!’

  The Prince got up. If he was annoyed, he did not show it, but smiled and bowed, and said that he gladly relinquished his place to the doctor.

  Ermyntrude sat up, extending her hand towards Chester. ‘Oh, Maurice, I wish it had been you!’ she said. ‘Somehow it seems to make it worse, Hinchcliffe being sent for, for you know I’ve never liked him, nor poor Wally either!’

  Chester took her hand, but glanced over his shoulder, addressing himself impartially both to Mary and to the Prince. ‘Too many people in this room,’ he said. ‘Prince, take Miss Cliffe into the dining-room, and give her a whisky-and-soda, will you? See she drinks it, too.’

  ‘But with the greatest pleasure on earth!’ the Prince said. ‘We have indeed neglected Miss Cliffe, who is all the time so thoughtful for the welfare of others!’

  He held open the door for Mary, but instead of permitting her to go with him to the dining-room, he insisted on her sitting down in one of the big leather armchairs that stood in the hall, while he went to mix a drink for her.

  He had just brought it to her when Vicky wandered downstairs. ‘Oh, hallo! Bottle party?’ she inquired.

  ‘Poor Miss Cliffe is exhausted,’ explained the Prince. ‘I am commanded by Dr Chester to give her whisky, and to be sure she drinks it. I warn you, I shall obey my orders, Miss Cliffe, so do not make a face at your whisky! I am here to make myself useful, and this is my first task.’

  Mary pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘Vicky, what about dinner?’ she asked. ‘It must be nearly time. I hope Mrs Peake hasn’t taken it into her head that it won’t be wanted.’

  ‘Ah no, for Peake is even now setting the table!’ the Prince assured her. He smiled at Vicky. ‘Sit down, duchinka: you have had so great a shock! You are pale, my little one; you, too, need Alexis to take care of you, I think.’

  ‘Not if it means whisky,’ replied Vicky. ‘I’ve already had three cocktails, so I shouldn’t think whisky would agree with me much. Is Maurice here, Mary?’

  ‘Yes, with your mother.’

  ‘Oh, good! Perhaps he’ll make her go to bed.’ She turned to the Prince, and said prettily: ‘We’re so sorry this should have happened during your visit, Alexis. I’m afraid you’ll take a perfectly ghoulish memory of Palings away with you tomorrow.’

  ‘I do not go tomorrow,’ he replied. ‘You do not suppose that I would run from you when you are in such trouble! No, no, while that poor Trudinka has need of me, I stay!’

  ‘Oh, Alexis, I do think that’s so sweet and sacrificing of you!’ said Vicky. ‘Only, do you feel it’s wise of you?’

  ‘Wise of me? I do not understand!’

  ‘I rather suspect that the police will think it’s a bit odd of you. That Inspector asked the most unnerving questions about you, and he’s so dumb that I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s cast you for the part of the murderer.’

  ‘But it is ridiculous!’ exclaimed the Prince. ‘You are joking, surely!’

  ‘Oh, Alexis, joking at such a time! Oh, how could you think I’d be so frightful?’

  ‘You are overwrought, then. As for your Police Inspector, I snap my fingers at him, so! Do not trouble your so lovely little head on my account, my Vicky!’

  A telephone-bell had rung in the distance a minute or two before, and Peake now came into the hall to tell Mary that Mr Steel wished to speak to her.

  She pulled herself out of her chair. ‘All right, Peake; I’ll take it in the library,’ she said.

  Steel’s voice, at the other end of the wire, sounded deeper even than usual. He said: ‘That you, Mary? I’ve just heard the most incredible— It isn’t true, is it?’

  ‘If you mean Wally’s death, yes, it’s true.’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Mary, you don’t mean he was actually murdered, do you?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. How did you hear of it?’

  ‘One of my men’s just come in with the news. He says it’s all over the village. Good God, I couldn’t believe it! Mary, how’s Ermyntrude?’

  ‘She’s upset, naturally. We hope to get her to bed.’

  ‘I’ll come over at once. We can’t talk on the telephone.’

  ‘Oh no, you will not come over!’ said Mary. ‘Dr Chester’s with her now, and she doesn’t want any visitors tonight. Besides, the more you stay out of this the better it’ll be, Robert. Peake heard what you said to me this morning, and he told the police.’

  ‘Hell, what do you think I care for
that?’

  ‘I don’t know, and I’m past minding, but if you come over here you won’t see Aunt Ermy, I promise you.’

  There was another pause. ‘All right. I’ll wait till the morning. Tell her I rang up, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll tell her!’ said Mary, glancing round as the door opened, and Vicky came into the room. ‘Sorry, I can’t stay any longer. Good-bye!’ She put down the receiver. ‘What have you done with the Prince, Vicky? He hasn’t gone back into the drawing-room, has he?’

  ‘No, upstairs. That was one time I didn’t strike on the box, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Did you think you were going to?’

  ‘Well, I thought there was just a chance. Did Robert ring up to condole?’

  ‘He rang up to know if it was true. He wanted to come round, but I stopped him.’

  Vicky lit a cigarette, and flicked the match into the hearth. ‘Oh, I think you were frightfully right! I shouldn’t be at all taken aback if we discovered he did it, would you?’

  ‘Don’t!’ implored Mary. ‘Yes, of course I should. It isn’t possible!’

  ‘Darling, I’m simply dripping with sympathy for you, but don’t suddenly be a dewy innocent, because I don’t feel I can bear it. If Percy didn’t do it, Alexis or Robert must have. There isn’t anybody else.’

  ‘Vicky, don’t say things like that! You don’t know: there may have been others we’ve never heard of. What would you think if Robert or the Prince said it must be you, because you happened to be in the shrubbery at the time?’

  Vicky blew a cloud of smoke. ‘But, Mary, dear pet, how could I possibly? I practically never hit anything when I take a gun out.’

  ‘That isn’t the impression you generally try to put across,’ said Mary dryly. ‘Anyone listening to you would imagine you were a pretty good shot.’

  ‘Yes, but when I give that impression, I’m just putting on an act,’ explained Vicky. ‘Actually, I’m rather a lousy shot, I think.’

  ‘I’ll remember to tell the Inspector so, if he asks me,’ promised Mary.

  Nine

  By the next morning, nearly everyone connected with the case, instead of having been soothed by a night’s repose, was in a state either of exasperation or of foreboding. The Inspector found himself bogged in a quagmire of evidence; Mary foresaw endless days of strain; the Prince had, apparently, realised his own position, and was feeling it acutely; and Ermyntrude had discovered a fresh grievance against Harold White. Only Vicky came down to breakfast with her usual serenity.

  Ermyntrude had been persuaded to breakfast in her room, but not in solitude. She held a sort of court, sitting up in bed against such a background of silk, and lace-edged pillows, and in such an exotic wrapper, that she reminded her visitors irresistibly of a sultan’s favourite wife. The morning’s post had brought her a certain measure of comfort, for the news of Wally’s death had spread quickly over the countryside, and she was able to say with mournful pride that all the best people had written to her. Letters strewed the coverlet of her bed, and whenever she opened one that particularly gratified her, she summoned Mary or Vicky to her side to hear about it. In the intervals of reading the letters of condolence, and absentmindedly consuming a quantity of toast and marmalade, she issued general orders for the day, directed her maid what clothes to lay out for her, and discussed exhaustively the mourning raiment that must instantly be bought for her. Breakfast for those in the dining-room became an unquiet meal, disturbed continuously by the ringing of Ermyntrude’s bell, and the constant appearances of housemaids bearing urgent, and very often contradictory, messages from the widow.

  It had occurred to Ermyntrude, in the night watches, that not only had her husband met his death on his way to keep an assignation which she had known nothing about, but that no one had so far explained to her why he had gone over to see that Harold White. A note from Lady Dering, delivered by hand, took her mind off this problem for a little while, but she remembered it again when she rang for her breakfast, and at once sent for Mary and commanded her instantly to ring up the Dower House, and to summon White to her presence.

  ‘You mark my words, dearie, whatever it was that took poor Wally there, that White wasn’t up to any good!’ she said. ‘And considering my position, and Wally being shot practically in his garden, I should have thought the least he could do would be to have come right over to apologise – well, no, I don’t mean that exactly, but, anyway, he ought to have come.’

  By this time, Mary had been connected with the Dower House. Janet’s voice hurried into distressful speech, and for quite a few moments Mary had no opportunity of delivering Ermyntrude’s message. However, when she saw Ermyntrude stretch out a hand to wrest the pink enamel receiver away from her, she broke in on the flood of Janet’s condolences, and said that Ermyntrude was anxious to see White, and would be grateful if he could spare the time to call on her on his way to the colliery offices.

  ‘Grateful!’ ejaculated Ermyntrude. ‘Don’t talk so silly to her, Mary! Tell her I say he is to come!’

  Mary did not pass on this peremptory message, because Janet was explaining that her father had left for the collieries.

  Mary covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘He’s gone to work. Janet wants to know if you’d like him to look in this evening.’

  ‘Oh, he’s gone to work, has he?’ said Ermyntrude wrathfully. ‘And no more thought for me lying here in the dark than that bed-post! Not so much as a note, or a message, either!’

  ‘Janet says he told her she was to call this morning, and leave cards.’

  ‘What’s the good of cards?’ demanded Ermyntrude. ‘I don’t want her cards! I don’t want her either, if it comes to that, for though I’m sure I’ve nothing against the girl, she frets me to death, and if there is a time when I might expect to have my nerves considered, it’s now!’

  Mary made frantic signs to her to be quiet, and tried to tell Janet that Ermyntrude was not up to receiving visitors. Janet said: ‘I thought as I was the last person who saw him alive, she’d like me to come and tell her just how he died.’

  ‘No, I don’t think that would be very desirable,’ said Mary.

  ‘I thought it might be a comfort to her,’ said Janet. ‘I’m certain he didn’t suffer at all. It was over in an instant. One moment I was standing looking at him—’

  ‘Look here, Janet, not over the telephone!’ begged Mary.

  ‘No, of course not. I’ll come over and tell you all about it, and it’ll sort of set your mind at rest.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mary faintly.

  She hung up the receiver, and turned her attention to Ermyntrude, who had succeeded in working herself up into a state of indignation against White, for having callously gone to work as though nothing had happened; against Janet, for pushing herself in where she was not wanted, and no doubt thinking Wally’s death had made her very important and against Alan, for no very intelligible reason, except that he was the son of his father.

  When she was in the middle of a really impassioned diatribe against the Whites, Vicky walked into the room with her table-napkin under her arm, and a slice of toast and butter in one hand, and announced that two reporters were seeking to gain admittance to the house.

  Ermyntrude first exclaimed ‘The Press!’ in a throbbing voice of anguish, and clasped her head in her hands; but this gesture was merely mechanical, and an instant later she let her hands fall, and sat up, thrusting her breakfast-tray to one side of the bed. ‘Whatever happens you’re not to talk to them, nor see them either, Vicky!’ she said briskly.

  ‘Oh, darling, can’t I? I’ve never had my picture in the papers, and I quite think they might take one of me.’

  ‘That’s just what they’re not going to get a chance of doing. Now, don’t argue, there’s a love! God knows I want you to have your photograph in the papers, ducky, and so you
shall, but this is the wrong kind of publicity for you, you take my word for it! Mary, run quick, and tell Peake they’re not to be let in! Good gracious, it would ruin Vicky’s chances – absolutely ruin them! Mary, wait a minute! Let me think! We shall have to give them some kind of a statement, and I was just thinking if Alexis doesn’t mind he might have a talk with them; and if they choose to take a picture of him, and say how he’s a guest here I’m sure I’ve no objection to that. Ask him, Mary dear, but tell him to be careful what he says to them!’

  The Prince did not at first take very kindly to the suggestion that he should interview the representatives of the Press, but Mary, remembering with what ease Inspector Cook had induced her to disclose far more than she had meant to, was determined that she was not going to allow herself to be interrogated by eager reporters, and made it plain to the Prince that if his object in staying at Palings was to be of use, here was his chance.

  It was not long before Janet arrived, carrying a bunch of dahlias, which she begged Mary to give to Ermyntrude with her love.

  ‘I couldn’t go into Fritton, because my bicycle’s got a puncture, so I had to pick what I could out of the garden,’ she explained. ‘I’m sorry they aren’t nicer, but I felt I must bring something. I wish they could have been lilies.’

  Mary took the flowers, and thanked her, and went away to put them in water, leaving Janet to wait in the morning-room. When Ermyntrude, who happened to be on her way downstairs as Mary crossed the hall, saw the offering, she was not at all grateful, but, on the contrary, inclined to be affronted. She said that a lot of dahlias ranging in colour from rich scarlet to flaming yellow looked more like a harvest festival than a funeral, and told Mary to put them where they wouldn’t be noticed.

  So Mary put them in the garden-hall, and went back to give Janet a mendacious message from Ermyntrude.

  Janet presented an even more untidy appearance than usual, and showed a tendency to cry. Though she had not herself liked Wally Carter, and knew very well that he had been a most unsatisfactory husband, stepfather and guardian, she apparently expected Mary to be heartbroken at his death, and asked her anxiously if she had been able to cry.