Patricia Wentworth - Pilgrim’s Rest

“Silly-aren’t you?” he said in an odd unsteady voice.

“It’s been horrid-”

“My child, I told you so, but you would come.”

He kissed her again. This time she pushed him away.

“Frank-who did it? Do they know?”

“Not yet. Look here, Judy, I want you to clear out.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, yes, you can. You can come and do your work, but I won’t have you here at night. I’ll fix it up with Lesley Freyne-she’ll take you in.”

She said, “Penny is there. That’s all that matters.”

“Well, you matter to me. I’ll fix it for you.”

“No-I won’t go. I’m next to Miss Silver, and I can lock my door. Besides, who’s going to want to murder me?” Another of those shudders ran over her. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going.”

He said soberly, “I think you’re being stupid. If Jerome gets one of his attacks, you have a bad night. I hear he had one a couple of nights ago.”

“He didn’t have one last night.”

“Perhaps they gave him something to keep him quiet.”

“So they did the other night, but he had one just the same.”

He looked at her attentively.

“What was supposed to set him off?”

“Seeing Miss Freyne.” Judy’s voice was quite expressionless.

“He has one after seeing Lesley, but he doesn’t have one after Roger falls out of the window, and he doesn’t have one after they find Henry’s body. Does that seem odd to you?”

“Very odd.”

He kissed her again, lightly this time, and turned to the door.

“I mustn’t dally. There are moments when being a policeman palls. Go in and ask Miss Janetta when she will be ready to see March. And it’s no good her saying she isn’t well or anything like that, because he means to see her, and Daly won’t back her up.”

He waited, and he had to wait some time, but in the end she came out to say that Miss Janetta would see Superintendent March in twenty minutes, and she hoped that he would make his visit as short as possible, as she was feeling terribly prostrated.

Frank Abbott got back to the study to find Lesley Freyne there. She gave him her hand and a friendly smile, and he thought, as he always thought, what a nice woman she was, and what a pity she hadn’t married and had a pack of children of her own instead of having to make do with evacuees. Of course it was very nice for the evacuees.

He went to his place, took up his pad, and wrote down an interminable string of questions and answers. Sometimes he could have flinched for her, but she kept her quiet dignity and gave no sign, however near the quick the question must have cut. March was as considerate as he could be, but he had his duty to do, and to establish a motive for Henry Clayton’s death was part of that duty.

“Miss Freyne, you will appreciate that I have to ask you questions which you may find it painful to answer. In the statements which were made at the time of Clayton’s disappearance there were references to a disagreement which had taken place between you during the afternoon. Can you indicate the nature of that disagreement?”

“I am afraid not. It was a private matter.”

“A good many private matters have to be disclosed in the course of a murder case. When you made your original statement there was no reason to suppose that Clayton was dead. Now things are different. The body which was found in the cellars yesterday has been identified as that of Henry Clayton. His name is on a tab on the coat, and his signet ring has been identified by Jerome Pilgrim. There is no doubt at all that he was murdered. It seems likely that, for some reason, he returned to the house after having left it, and that he was stabbed in or near the lift going down to the cellars. The weapon was probably taken from one of the trophies in the dining-room and subsequently replaced. Examination has disclosed traces of blood close up to the hilt of one of the daggers. Scrapings from the floor of the lift show similar traces. In these circumstances, you must see that I have no choice but to press you. Anything that caused a disagreement between you and Clayton might throw some light on the motive for this crime.”

“I don’t think it could possibly do that.”

“You might not be the best judge. Will you not change your mind?”

She shook her head.

“It wouldn’t be fair to do so. It might cause distress to an innocent person.”

“You mean that your quarrel was about a woman?”

“It wasn’t really a quarrel. It wouldn’t help you to know about it. We took different points of view about something- that was all.”

“Can you not particularize a little more than that? You need not mention names.”

She seemed to be considering. After a while she said,

“Yes, I could do that. A case came up in conversation-I took one point of view, and Henry took another.”

“What kind of case was it?”

“The case of the unmarried woman who has a child. I took the point of view that the child had claims upon both the parents which should override everything else.”

“And Clayton?”

“He didn’t agree. He said of course the man must pay, but he didn’t admit any responsibility beyond that. It is what a great many men would say. There wasn’t any quarrel.”

March looked at her.

“Was the case you were discussing that of Mabel Robbins?”

She had a momentary colour in her face.

“No, of course not!”

“I don’t know why you should say ‘of course.’ You must have known the girl.”

“Oh, yes, I knew her. She was very pretty and charming.”

“Then it would have been natural that you should have her case in mind-wouldn’t it?”

“It was another case-a case in the papers.”

“It might have been another case, and yet you might have had Mabel Robbins in your mind. That would be natural, wouldn’t it?”

“Mr. March, do you really expect me to be able to tell you just what was in my mind three years ago?”

“I think you would know whether you had thought about Mabel Robbins. Come, Miss Freyne-you were reluctant to speak of this disagreement because you didn’t want to involve an innocent person. Will you assert that this person had no connection with the Robbins family?”

She said with composure,

“No. I had better tell you. I was thinking about Mrs. Robbins-I have always been so sorry for her. I didn’t want to say anything to revive Mabel’s story. Please don’t misunderstand me. The case I discussed with Henry had nothing to do with the Robbinses, but I knew if I mentioned it that the Robbinses would be dragged in-as they have been now.”

He looked at her hard.

“Miss Freyne-did you know that Mabel Robbins was dead?”

“Yes-Mr. Pilgrim told me. He said the Robbinses did not want it spoken of. I never mentioned it.”

“But you knew. Did you know at the time of this disagreement?”

“No, I don’t think I did. I think Mr. Pilgrim told me afterwards.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Yes, I am sure that it was afterwards.”

“Did you know who was the father of Mabel Robbin’s child?”

“No.”

“Did Mr. Pilgrim tell you anything about that?”

There was a long pause before she said,

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you that he thought Clayton was the father?”

“He said he was afraid of it.”

“Did he give you any reason for thinking so?”

She turned very pale indeed. She kept her voice steady, but it was very low.

“He said Robbins told him.”

When March knocked at Miss Janetta’s door and went in he found Miss Lona Day in attendance. He was aware that the stage had been set and his part mapped out for him. He was undoubtedly the crude policeman blundering into a lady’s sick-room. The curtains, half-drawn across the windows, were flowered in roses and forget-me-nots. Pink linen blinds half down converted the cold daylight into a rosy glow.