Peter Lovesey - Swing, Swing Together

The impact of Hardy’s statement was devastating. When Cribb spoke, it was not to say the obvious, but to provide time to absorb the shock.

“That was it, then. You can see why they were so unforthcoming about their night in Marlow. A pilgrimage, they called it. It wasn’t holy places they were visiting. Not the sort of thing that would go down very well in the Providential, I imagine.”

“Never mind that,” said Thackeray, grasping the nettle. “It means that they definitely didn’t murder Choppy Walters. They couldn’t have. Are you going to release them, Sarge?”

“I shall have to,” Cribb bleakly said. “From what we’ve just been told, it’s clear that we’ve spent the best part of a week tracking down the wrong three men. It’s a blasted nightmare. If Miss Shaw is right, even the corpse is the wrong man.”

At lunch Melanie asked Harriet to go with her to Merton College that afternoon to sort through her late husband’s things. The Warden had spoken to her about it after Morning Service. “It will be frightfully boring for you, my dear,” Melanie said, “but just having you with me is such a support. I don’t think I could bear to be alone in that room surrounded by his things.”

“I shall be glad to come,” said Harriet. She would be of more help to Melanie than she could at the police station. Now that the innocence of Humberstone and his friends was confirmed, there was nothing she could do to help Sergeant Cribb, unless he produced three different men and a different dog. She just had to wait until somebody could be spared to escort her back to Elfrida College. Rather than spend a depressing afternoon thinking about what happened after that, she would be glad to go with Melanie.

She should have been prepared for the small shock that awaited her as they turned out of the hotel into St. Aldate’s. Some fifty yards ahead, walking away from them, were the distinctive figures of Humberstone, Lucifer and Gold, with Towser lingering behind to bark at a cabhorse. Of course they had to be released, but it still made her catch her breath to see them at liberty.

It was ironic after her unwillingness to identify them and confirm their guilt that she now had difficulty in accepting their innocence. When Bonner-Hill’s body had been discovered, the horrid possibility that she might have prevented him from being murdered had dominated her thoughts. The idea had fixed itself so firmly in her mind that each time she tried to remember the scene in the water she could see only Humberstone and Lucifer at the oars, with Gold reclining on the cushions. The image her troubled conscience presented was more vivid than her recollection of the experience itself. In her worst moments she wondered whether what she had seen was a caprice of her imagination, induced by the tense excitement of that secret bathe. Yet Molly and Jane had seen the boat. They must have, to have taken fright as they did. What a relief it would be to summon them as witnesses and have their support! That was out of the question, of course. It would mean betraying them to Miss Plummer and ruining their careers as well as her own.

“Is something wrong?” Melanie asked.

“Nothing. I was thinking about College. Our principal is a formidable lady. She even creeps into your thoughts when you are not expecting it.”

“How very inconvenient. When I was your age I had the same trouble with young men, but that wasn’t a depressing experience. Isn’t there some nice young man of your acquaintance who might be called to mind to exorcise the lady?”

At Merton, the Warden drank tea with them before escorting them through the quadrangles to Bonner-Hill’s rooms. It was apparent to Harriet that there was something he wanted to mention; he tried to create an opening in the conversation once or twice over the teacups, but Melanie was unstoppable. The Warden said, “Perhaps this is the moment when-”

“Is it?” Melanie broke in. “I don’t know how you tell one moment from another. I lose all conception of time in Oxford.” And she expanded on the strangeness of a city with so many clocks that they confused people.

Five minutes later the Warden said, “If I may be so bold-”

“You’re going to suggest we have a second cup,” said Melanie. “I never do, but don’t let me stop you, Harriet. Tea is a stimulant-don’t you find it so? — but I think it isn’t good for me to drink too much. I’m too excitable already. I’ll let you into a secret. On stage I never drink tea. It’s always ginger beer in the teapot. Do you like ginger beer, Warden?”

At the door of Bonner-Hill’s rooms, the Warden paused, key in hand and an expression of grim determination on his face. “His books. We should like them for our library,” he said in a rush. “That is to say, I could help you to dispose of Mr. Bonner-Hill’s collection of books if his will is not specific in regard to them. So inconvenient, trying to deal with booksellers. You could leave them just as they are on the shelves for the librarian to sort-to catalogue, that is. Our library has benefited greatly from endowments,” he finished breathlessly.

“If that was Harry’s intention, no doubt he will have provided for it in his will,” said Melanie without enthusiasm. “May we go inside now, or was there anything else?”

“But of course.” The Warden turned the key. “There is no reason to hurry yourselves, ladies. If you would kindly return the key to the porter as you leave …”

“Did you ever hear anything so direct as that?” Melanie said, when the door was closed behind them. “ ‘We should like them for our library,’ without so much as a by your leave, and poor Harry not even buried yet. I tell you, Harriet, there’s a myth that people in universities have genteel manners. When they want anything, they’re as blunt as beggars. Well, my dear, I wonder where his papers are. It’s very tidy, isn’t it? No wonder he despaired of me. There’s his travelling trunk in the corner. We’ll pack things into that. His bedroom is through there. It would help me greatly if you would empty the wardrobe. I don’t intend to leave his suits behind for the Warden.”

Harriet was no authority on gentlemen’s bedrooms, but she doubted whether many came up to Bonner-Hill’s in tidiness. Little in it suggested it was occupied at all. The furniture was all of the serviceable kind provided by the College. There were no photographs or pictures, no special ornaments or bric- a-brac. A pair of polished shoes symmetrically positioned on the mat beside the bed, and a bathrobe hanging on the door were more suggestive of a hotel room than a home. Oddly, she found the impersonality more poignant than a roomful of small evidences of occupation. She could see the lonely don, separated from the wife he had worshipped but failed to wean away from the stage, moving about these rooms like an overnight guest.

She opened the wardrobe and began lifting out suits and putting them on the bed. There must have been a dozen there. She doubted whether they would all fit into the trunk without creasing, and that would be a sin.

Melanie appeared at the bedroom door. “You’re doing splendidly, darling. Such a help! I say, here’s a strange thing. I found this letter on his writing desk. It’s addressed to John Fernandez. I wonder what Harry was doing with it. It’s been opened, you see.” She held it between them, showing the torn edge of the envelope.

Nothing was said, but Harriet knew that Melanie was offering to take out the letter and look at it. She was pitting their friendship against decorum. It wanted only a whisper of encouragement to begin a conspiracy. The temptation was strong. Alone, Harriet might have yielded, but she was not ready to admit as much, even to Melanie. “We really ought to return it to Mr. Fernandez.”