Dorothy Cannell - The Importance of Being Ernestine

“There you are, then!” Mrs. Malloy was at her most triumphant. “All turned out for the best, didn’t it? How about I fix you a good stiff drink before we get started? And don’t be afraid to go ahead and smoke if you fancy a ciggy. Mrs. Haskell and me aren’t ones to pass judgment. Would be the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t it?”

It was all too much for me. Prying myself away from the desk I fled in what I hoped was the direction of the loo, somehow in the process managing to drag Mrs. Malloy along with me. She mumbled something over her shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of Her Ladyship’s startled black gaze before I found myself again hanging over the washbasin. Oh, the blessed chill of the porcelain! For a moment I prayed for the guillotine to come slicing down on my neck, and then all at once-miraculously-I was whole and healthy again. Amazing! The floor didn’t tilt. The room didn’t spin. And even Mrs. Malloy’s aggrieved voice did not make me wish to take a nosedive into the toilet and be flushed away into oblivion.

“Well, I hope you’re proper ashamed of yourself, Mrs. H., giving that poor little old lady the silent treatment.”

“I didn’t feel well.”

“Rubbish! You look proper blooming to me this minute. Never been so shown up in me life, I haven’t! And after me going and promoting you too! Anyone else would have made you the secretary and me Mr. Jugg’s partner. Unselfish to the core, that’s always been me trouble. But there’s no use standing here crying over spilt milk.”

I didn’t ask if there was any pun intended. “Lady Krumley isn’t little,” I said. She has to be five foot eight in her bare feet. And I doubt very much given the title that she’s poor.”

“There you go, picking me words apart like a sink full of lettuce! We’ve got to get back in there before she gets the wind up and disappears into the night.” Mrs. Malloy stood like Justice on a pedestal, but I turned to straighten my hair in the dinky little mirror above the basin, feeling stronger by the minute. There was no way I was going to allow her to intimidate me into posing as a private detective-something I was sure would have nasty legal consequences. One petty criminal in the family was enough, thank you very much.

My cousin Freddy’s mother, Aunt Lulu, had taken up shoplifting years ago when her women friends chose needle-point or bridge as a hobby. To date she had not found herself in the dock facing a judge wearing a wig his wife had crocheted and who was not inclined to be moved by the fact that the accused claimed to give most of her “finds,” as she termed them, to charitable organizations.

“So her ladyship’s a tough-looking old bird living in a house with four hundred rooms-from the address I peeked at in Mr. Jugg’s appointment book.” Mrs. Malloy’s blonde hair sat on her head like an ill-fitting halo. “Moldy Towers, I think that’s the name of the place.”

“Surely not!”

“I’m not here to argue with you, Mrs. H.” Amazingly, Mrs. Malloy’s nose did not grow with this brazen lie. “The point I’m making is that Lady Krumley wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t in some fearful sort of trouble, now would she?”

“People seek out private detectives for all sorts of reasons. She might suspect the butcher of overcharging her, for all we know.”

“More like her very life’s at stake. Otherwise why not send her man of business or someone of that sort?” She spoke with a long drawn-out hiss. “Her sort aren’t used to doing for themselves. Not unless it’s something they want kept hush-hush. Think on that!”

I didn’t answer.

Mrs. Malloy wagged a finger under my nose. “What if she was to walk out of here without us finding out what’s up, and we was to read in the newspapers tomorrow that she’d been found stuffed in an attic trunk or dead from arsenic in the soup or pushed off one of them bloomin’ towers? Course,” Mrs. Malloy added to fend off any protests on my part, “could be there aren’t no towers, for all you’d think that’s how the place got its name.”

“Really?”

“Too right! I once knew a woman as lived in a house called The Firs. And not so much as a Christmas tree front or back. You know the sort, always putting on airs, some people! But then again you did have to feel sorry for Doris, seeing as how she had a nephew that did her out of the money she’d saved up to buy the washing machine she’d been dreaming about for years.”

“I’m sure Lady Krumley has plenty of washing machines. Enough to bequeath to the charity of her choice.” I edged toward the door.

“And I’ll bet you me second best fur coat, Mrs. H., she’s also got a nasty nephew like they always have sneaking around in them Agatha Christie books.”

“Who’s desperate to inherit all the household appliances,” I nodded.

“That’s right!” Mrs. Malloy looked pleased as Punch that I was finally beginning to realize we were in the business of sniffing out evil. “And then of course they’ll be the wicked step-daughter and the nasty chauffeur what’s really a cousin from the wrong side of the blanket and the smiley-faced bank manager that’s been embezzling the money Lady Krumley’s hubby left when he died and…”

“A whole bunch of other good-for-nothings,” I agreed smoothly, “anyone of whom could be itching to bump off her ladyship. I’m sure Mr. Jugg will have the time of his life sorting it all out when he returns. Although from what you’ve been telling me he’s more interested in rooting out evil from the mean streets than the drawing room. Oh, well a change of pace never hurt anyone.”

“I’m sure I don’t know how you can be so callous!” Mrs. M. indicted. “What if you find out too late Lady Krumley was in mortal danger?”

She got me there.

“I should never have made you a partner in Jugg’s Detective Agency.” She folded her arms, thrusting her bosom ceiling-ward. “There’s not many that gets promoted after fifteen minutes of drinking the company booze and smoking cigarettes like they was going up in price the next day. But there’s no point in standing here breaking me heart over that poor woman in there. Thank goodness I bought meself that new winter coat. At least I’ll be able to go to her funeral without fear of showing meself or Mr. Jugg up.”

“Enough!” I was ready to capitulate. “I already feel like a villain out on parole after Ben’s reaction tonight. It probably won’t do any irrevocable harm to go back in there and hear what Lady Krumley has to say.”

“Thanks for them kind words, Mrs. H.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Well, they do say blondes have more fun, don’t they?” Patting her hair complacently, Mrs. Malloy gave a final preen for luck in the mirror, before sailing ahead of me into the office, where our spirits were immediately dampened by a most unnerving sight: Lady Krumley slumped forward in her chair. At least we thought it was her ladyship. It was at first difficult to be one hundred percent certain, given that her hat was tipped down over her nose, which Milk Jugg, had he been here, might have documented in his notes as her most distinguishing feature.

“How unforgivably rude of me to doze off.” Lady Krumley raised her head and blinked in upper-crust distress. Only a nightmare could have brought her to this office with its plastic plants and inhospitable furniture. She sat rolling her gloves on her lap. “It has been months since my last heart attack, Mrs. Haskell, so one may not use that as an excuse. My home is in Biddlington-By-Water, not thirty miles from Mucklesby. Therefore, the journey was not the problem. It only seemed long because I haven’t driven myself in years. My apologies to both of you,” she said, directing her nose in Mrs. Malloy’s direction, “for delaying you even longer after my late arrival.”