Ngaio Marsh - Death in a White Tie

“Two years ago?” asked Alleyn with a smile. “Tell me about it.”

“It was simply frightful. Donna had been ill and she was sleeping very badly. Bart was asked if he’d mind going into his dressing-room. I didn’t realize then, but I do now, that that was what annoyed him. He always gets the huff when Donna’s ill. He takes it as a sort of personal insult and being a beastly old Victorian Turk the dressing-room idea absolutely put the tin cupola on it. Are you shocked?”

“I suppose not,” said Alleyn cautiously. “Anyway, go on.”

“Well, you’re not. And so he went into his dressing-room. And then Donna got really ill and I said we must have Sir Daniel because she was so ill and he’s an angel. And Bart rang him up. Well, I wanted to get hold of Sir Daniel first to tell him about Donna before Bart did. So I went downstairs into Bart’s study because I told the butler to show Sir Daniel in there. Bart was up with Donna telling her how ‘seedy’ he felt, and it didn’t matter, she wasn’t to notice. And then Sir Dan came in and was angelic and I told him about Donna. Did you notice in the study there’s a French escritoire thing on a table?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Sir Dan adores old things and he saw it and raved about it and said it was a beautiful piece and told me when it was made and how they used sometimes to put little secret drawers in them and you just touch a screw and they fly out. He said it was a museum piece and asked me if I didn’t think some of the vanished ladies might come back and open the secret drawer with ghostly fingers. So I thought I’d like to see, and when Sir Dan had gone up to Donna I tried prodding the screws with a pencil and at last a little drawer did fly out triangularly, sort of. There was a letter in it. I didn’t touch it, naturally, but while I was looking at the drawer, Bart must have come in. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” said Alleyn. “Go on.”

“I can’t tell you what he was like. He went absolutely stark ravers , honestly. He took hold of my arm and twisted it so much I screamed before I could stop myself. And then he turned as white as the washing and called me a little bastard. I believed he’d have actually hit me if Sir Dan hadn’t come down. I think Sir Dan had heard me yell and he must have guessed what had happened because he had one glance at my arm — I had short sleeves — and then he said in a lovely dangerous sort of voice: ‘Are you producing another patient for me, Carrados?’ Bart banged the little drawer shut, began to splutter and try to get up some sort of explanation. Sir Daniel just looked at him through his glasses — the ones with the black ribbon. Bart tried to pretend I’d slipped on the polished floor and he’d caught me by the arm. Sir Daniel said: ‘Very curious indeed,’ and went on looking at my arm. He gave me a prescription for some stuff to put on it and was frightfully nice to me, and didn’t ask questions, but just ignored Bart. It made me absolutely crawl with shame to hear Bart trying to do his simple-soldier stuff and sort of ingratiate himself with Sir Dan. And when he’d gone Bart apologized to me and said he was really terribly nervy and ill and had never recovered from the war, which was pretty good as he spent it in Tunbridge Wells. That was the worst of all, having to hear him apologize. He said there was a letter from his mother in the drawer and it was very sacred. Of course I felt simply lousy . He’s never forgiven me and I’ve never forgotten. My private belief is there was something about his miserable past in that drawer.”

Bridget’s voice at last stopped. Alleyn, who had sat in his chair, was silent for so long that at last she turned from the fire and looked into his face.

“It’s a queer story, isn’t it?” she said.

“Very queer, indeed,” said Alleyn. “Have you ever told anyone else about it?”

“No. Well, only Donald.” She wriggled across the hearthrug. “It’s funny,” she said. “I suppose I ought to be frightened of you, but I’m not. Why’s Donna coming?”

“She wants to collect you, and see me,” said Alleyn absently.

“Everybody wants to see you.” She clasped her hands over her knees. “Don’t they?” insisted Bridget.

“For no very flattering reason, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I think you’re really rather a lamb,” said Bridget.

“Tell me,” said Alleyn, “do you think anyone else knows the secret of that French writing-case?”

“I shouldn’t think so. You’d never know unless somebody showed you.”

“None of the servants?”

“I’m not sure. Bart slammed the drawer shut as soon as Sir Daniel came in.”

“Has Sir Daniel ever been alone in that room?”

“Sir Dan? Good heavens, you don’t think my angelic Sir Dan had anything to do with Bart’s beastly letter?”

“I simply want to clear things up.”

“Well, as a matter of fact I don’t think he’s been in the study before or since and he was never alone there that day. When Sir Dan comes, the servants always show him straight upstairs. Bart hates his room to be used for visitors.”

“Has Dimitri, the catering man, ever been alone in that room?”

“Why — I don’t know. Yes, now you come to mention it he did interview Donna there, about a month before our ball-dance. I went down first and he was alone in the room.”

“When was this? Can you remember the date?”

“Let me see. I’ll try. Yes. Yes, I can. It was on the tenth of May. We were going to Newmarket and Dimitri came early in the morning because of that.”

“Would you swear he was alone in the room?”

“Yes, yes, I would. But, please, what does it mean?”

“See here,” said Alleyn. “I want you to forget all about this. Don’t speak of it to anyone, not even to Donald. Understood?”

“Yes, but—”

“I want your promise.”

“All right, I promise.”

“Solemnly?”

“Solemnly.”

The front-door bell rang.

“Here’s your mother,” said Alleyn.

When Alleyn opened the door to Evelyn Carrados, he saw her as a dark still figure against the lighted street. Her face was completely shadowed and it was impossible for him to glean anything from it. So that when she walked into the sitting-room he was not prepared for her extraordinary pallor, her haunted eyes and the drawn nervousness of her mouth. He remembered that she had gone to her room before she missed Bridget, and he realized with compassion that she had removed her complexion and neglected to replace it. Perhaps Bridget felt something of the same compassion, for she uttered a little cry and ran to her mother. Lady Carrados, using that painful gesture of all distracted mothers, held Bridget in her arms. Her thin hands were extraordinarily expressive.

“Darling,” she murmured. With a sort of hurried intensity she kissed Bridget’s hair. “How could you frighten me like this, Bridgie, how could you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t know. Donna, don’t . It’s all right, really it is. It was only about Donald. I didn’t want to worry you. I’m so sorry, dear Donna.” Lady Carrados gently disengaged herself and turned to Alleyn.

“Come and sit down, Evelyn,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about. I would have brought your daughter home, but she had some interesting news and I thought you would trust her with me for half an hour.”

“Yes, Roderick, of course. If only I had known. Where’s Donald? I thought he was here.”

“He’s in the next room. Shall we send Bridget to join him for a minute or two?”

“Please.”