Dorothy Cannell - The Importance of Being Ernestine

“Of course not, but this isn’t the best time to get into it. Anyway, it’s only a thought to be picked over when we’re not in the middle of something else, such as deciding what we are going to say to her ladyship.”

“I thought we’d been over that.” Mrs. Malloy sounded only slightly mollified. “We’ll keep it simple. Tell her we’ve located Ernestine’s adoptive parents and that we believe Vincent Krumley was murdered.”

“And not by some phantom figure. I’m still not sure what’s best to be done about Cynthia Edmonds. What are the odds of her owning up to the blackmail if Lady Krumley were to warn her to be careful, or she’ll end up the next victim?”

“Slim to none, I’d say.”

“We have to persuade the police to cooperate.”

“No harm in being optimistic, Mrs. H.!”

The lift doors opened, and we emerged within a few yards of the nurses’ station. It was presently a hive of activity. Personnel came and went, some holding clipboards, some scribbling down notes and the majority with stethoscopes dangling around their necks. It was a couple of minutes before Mrs. Malloy and I were able to get the attention of a nurse. She was a motherly-looking woman and managed to seem as though she welcomed another interruption. But when we asked to see Lady Krumley, her expression altered dramatically. We were about to be given some very bad news.

“I’m sorry, she’s gone.”

“You mean she’s been discharged?” I croaked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Was it very sudden like?” Mrs. Malloy grabbed hold of my arm, which no doubt gave her some support but forced me almost to my knees.

“Very. A nurse was in the room when Lady Krumley received a phone call. So she left. And when she went back in just five minutes later, her ladyship had done a bunk.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s a very nice way of putting it,” said Mrs. Malloy. “Couldn’t you say had been called above?”

“I suppose I could, if she’d died.” The nurse’s face now expressed bewilderment. “But that’s not what we’re talking about here. Oh, I’m sorry.” Light belatedly dawned. “Lady Krumley didn’t take an unexpected turn for the worse. The doctors were very pleased. The tests showed she hadn’t suffered a heart attack. They believe the problem-her fainting or passing out in the car the other night-was stress-induced. She was to be released tomorrow. So why she’d just walk out of here like that is a complete puzzle, unless it could have had something to do with that phone call.”

“That must have been it.” I was speaking more to Mrs. Malloy.

“I shouldn’t have discussed this with you.” The nurse’s kindly face turned anxious. “You haven’t told me what your relationship is to Lady Krumley, and we’re only allowed to discuss a patient with close family members.”

“That’s us,” Mrs. M. assured her.

“Oh, what a relief!” The woman was more than ready to accept this as fact. “We try not to let our emotions get in the way of our work. But I’ve got an elderly grandmother myself, and I’d be worried sick if she pulled a stunt like this. Her ladyship’s nephew who lives with her was contacted as soon as we realized she was gone. He promised to get in touch the minute she showed up. Which of course she’s bound to do.”

“We’ll go to Moultty Towers at once,” I said and joined Mrs. Malloy in thanking her and promising not to breathe a word to anyone about having been told what had happened. We eased away, got into the lift that luckily was waiting and, on stepping out onto the ground floor where we had spent so much time getting lost, found ourselves facing the exit door. The car wasn’t hiding in the parking lot. We walked straight to it and were speedily upon our way heading out of Mucklesby in the direction of Biddlington-By-Water.

“I’ll bet you my share of the five thousand pounds her ladyship promised us, Lady Krumley got bad news about Cynthia Edmonds.” Mrs. Malloy opened the bag of lemon drops and for once offered me one. “She’ll have met with a fatal accident or been fed bad mushrooms. And we could say it serves her right, but that wouldn’t be Christian and is probably against the ethics of our profession.”

“You admitted just a short while ago that we’re amateurs.”

“The word never crossed me lips. I said we was just starting out, and wasn’t yet bogged down by a lot of rules and regulations.” Mrs. Malloy closed her mouth on another lemon drop, and we drove in silence until reaching the outskirts of Biddlington-By-Water. “I’ve been thinking,” she informed me as we approached the village.

“Yes?”

“You’re not the only one that can do it. Or keep their little inspirations to themselves till they’re ready to talk about them. What I want you to do, Mrs. H., is stop the car. Outside the café where we met Laureen Phillips will do nicely. We’re coming up to it now.”

“What’s this about?” I asked upon dutifully parking.

“We can’t let things drag on any longer. Not with the bodies beginning to pile up. It’s clear to me that our best hope of cracking this case is to talk to Constable Thatcher’s son, young Ronald. I’m not saying you haven’t been thinking along them lines too,” she said and poked her head sideways to peer in the rearview mirror, “but the question has been how to go about it.”

“And what have you come up with?”

“I’m going to be the truant officer.”

“But you don’t know he’s ever been improperly absent from school.”

“Well, I don’t think it likely he got back on time from his dinner hour after throwing them flower pots at Lady Krumley’s car and all the rest of what went on. I’ll find out where he lives and march over to his house and insist on talking to him. He was off school yesterday and with luck he’ll have stayed home another day. And I’ll want to know why, won’t I? If not I’ll have to slide one by the headmaster or whoever I talk to and have Ronald pulled out of class.”

“But he won’t even talk to his parents.”

“That’s different. I’ll be official. But I won’t be his constable Dad, or his Mum, who sounds the soft sort, going out to buy him them comics after him being so naughty, on the face of it that is. I’ll make it clear to young Ronald that he can’t have anyone better on his side than yours truly, so long as he don’t keep me twiddling me thumbs while he tries to feed me some cock-and-bull story. My George knew how far he could play me; I’m sure it’ll be just the same with Ronald. And it will end up with him sitting on me knees feeling a whole lot better for getting things off his little chest.”

Her confidence boosted my spirits. Having arranged that she would walk over to Moultty Towers when she was done, I waved and after seeing Mrs. Malloy disappear into the café to ask directions to the Thatcher’s house, drove the short distance through gathering gloom. It made the day seem closer to evening than early afternoon and gave the house a grimmer aspect than on yesterday’s visit as I proceeded up the drive. Upon ringing the doorbell, my feelings of trepidation returned full force. Cynthia Edmonds might not have been a nice person, but I shrank from hearing that something awful had happened to her.

I hadn’t completely gathered myself together when I was ushered into the house, not by Watkins the butler, but by Mr. Featherstone the vicar. He recalled in the kindest of voices having met me at the hospital and simplified the situation by saying that he was aware, from having talked with Laureen Phillips, that I had been hired by Lady Krumley as a private detective, not as an interior designer, and he had told her ladyship a short time ago while driving her home from the hospital that he was privy to the secret.”