P James - Shroud for a Nightingale

“We don’t remember that it was. But even if it had been, we wouldn’t have suspected that someone had been at the milk. We would just have thought that the dairy put it on like that-Then Shirley spoke on her own:

“I don’t think we would have noticed anything wrong with the milk anyway; You see, we were concentrating on the procedures for giving the drip, making sure that we had all the instruments and equipment we needed. We knew that Miss Beale and Matron would arrive at any minute.”

That, of course, was the explanation. They were girls who had been trained to observe, but their observation was specific and limited. If they were watching a patient they would miss nothing of his signs or symptoms, not a flicker of the eyelids or a change of pulse; anything else happening in the room, however dramatic, would probably be unnoticed. Their attention had been on the demonstration, the apparatus, the equipment, the patient The bottle of milk presented no problems. They had taken it for granted. And yet they were farmer’s daughters. One of them-it had been Maureen-had actually poured the stuff from the bottle. Could they really have mistaken the color, the texture, the smell of milk?

As if reading his thoughts Maureen said:

“It wasn’t as if we could smell the carbolic The whole demo room stinks of disinfectant Miss Collins throws the stuff around as if we’re all lepers.”

Shirley laughed: “Carbolic isn’t effective against leprosy!”

They looked at each other, smiling in happy complicity.

And so the interview had gone on. They had no theories to propound, no suggestions to offer. They knew no one who could wish Pearce or Fallon dead, and yet both deaths-since they had occurred-seemed to cause them no particular surprise. They could recall every word of the conversation between Sister Brumfett and themselves in the small hours of that morning, yet the encounter apparently had made little impression on them. When Dalgliesh asked if the Sister had seemed unusually worried or distressed, they gazed at him simultaneously, brows creased in perplexity, before replying that Sister had seemed just the same as usual.

As if following his chiefs thoughts, Masterson said:

“Short of asking them outright, if Sister Brumfett looked as if she’d just come straight from murdering Fallon you couldn’t have put it much plainer. They’re an odd uncommunicative couple.”

“At least they’re sure of the time. They took that milk shortly after seven o’clock and went straight to the demonstration room with it They stood the bottle unopened on the instrument trolley while they made preliminary preparations for the demonstration. They left the demonstration room at seven twenty-five for breakfast and the bottle was still on the trolley when they returned at about twenty-to-nine to complete their preparations. They then stood it still unopened, in a jug of hot water to bring it to blood heat and it remained there until they poured the milk from the bottle into a measuring jug about two minutes before Miss Beale and Matron’s party arrived. Most of the suspects were at breakfast together from eight until eight twenty-five, so that the mischief was either done between seven twenty-five and eight o’clock or in the short period between the end of breakfast and the twins’ return to the demonstration room.”

Masterson said: “I still find it strange that they noticed nothing odd about that milk.”

“They may have noticed more than they realize at present After all, this is the umpteenth time they’ve told their story. During the weeks since Pearce’s death, their first statements have become fixed in their minds as the immutable truth. That’s why I haven’t asked them the crucial question about the milk bottle. If they gave me the wrong answer now they’d never change it They need to be shocked into total recall. They’re not seeing anything that happened with fresh eyes. I dislike reconstructions of the crime; they always make me feel like a fictional detective. But I think there may be a case for reconstruction here. I shall have to be in London early tomorrow, but you and Greeson can see to it Greeson will probably enjoy himself.”

He told Masterson briefly what he proposed and ended:

“You needn’t bother to include the Sisters. I expect you can get a supply of the disinfectant from Miss Collins. But for God’s sake keep an eye on the stuff and chuck it away afterwards. We don’t want another tragedy.”

Sergeant Masterson took up the two beakers and carried them over to the sink. He said:

“Nightingale House does seem to be touched with ill-luck, but I can’t see the killer having another go while we’re around.

It was to prove a singularly unprophetic remark.

Since her encounter with Dalgliesh in the nurses’ utility room earlier that morning Sister Rolf e had had time to recover from shock and to consider her position. As Dalgliesh had expected she was not far less forthcoming. She had already given to Inspector Bailey a clear and unambiguous statement about the arrangements for the demonstration and the intra-gastric feeding and about her own movements on the. morning that Nurse Pearce died. She confirmed the statement accurately and without fuss. She agreed that she had known that Nurse Pearce was to act the part of the patient and pointed out sarcastically that there would be little point in denying the knowledge since it was she whom Madeleine Goodale bad called when Fallon was taken ill.

Dalgliesh asked: “Did you have any doubt of the genuineness of her illness?”

“At the time?”

“Then or now.”

“I suppose you’re suggesting that Fallon could have feigned influenza to ensure that Pearce took her place, and then sneaked back to Nightingale House before breakfast to doctor the drip? I don’t know why she did come back, but you can put any idea that she was pretending to be ill out of your head. Even Fallon couldn’t simulate a temperature of 103.8, a minor rigor and a racing pulse. She was a very sick girl that night, and she remained sick for nearly ten days.”

Dalgliesh pointed out that it was all the more odd that she should have been well enough to make her way back to Nightingale House next morning. Sister Rolf e replied that it was so odd that she could only assume that Fallon had had an imperative need to return. Invited to speculate on what that need could have been she replied that it wasn’t her job to propound theories. Then, as if under a compulsion, she added:

“But it wasn’t to murder Pearce. Fallon was highly intelligent, easily the most intelligent of her year. If Fallon came back to put the corrosive in the feed she would know perfectly well that there was a considerable risk of her being seen in Nightingale House even if she weren’t missed on the ward, and she’d have taken good care to have a story ready. It wouldn’t have been difficult to think of something. As it is, I gather she merely declined to give Inspector Bailey any explanation.”

“Perhaps she was clever enough to realize that this extraordinary reticence would strike another intelligent woman in exactly that way.”

“A kind of double bluff? I don’t think so. It would be banking too heavily on the intelligence of the police.”

She admitted calmly that she had no alibi for any of the time from seven o’clock when the twins had collected the bottle of milk from the kitchen until ten minutes to nine when she had joined the Matron and Mr. Courtney-Briggs in Miss Taylor’s sitting-room to await the arrival of Miss Beale, except for the period from eight to eight twenty-five when she had breakfasted at the same table as Sister Brumfett and Sister Gearing. Sister Brumfett had left the table first and she had followed at about eight twenty-five. She had gone first to her office next door to the demonstration room, but finding Mr. Courtney-Briggs in occupation, had made her way at once to her bed-sitting-room on the third floor.