As the Crow Flies

Mrs. Campbell was dressed in the familiar starched blue uniform, white collar and cuffs associated with her profession. She welcomed Charlie and Trevor Roberts in a deep Scottish burr, and had it not been for the uninterrupted sunshine coming through the windows, Charlie might have been forgiven for thinking that the matron of Maple Lodge Residential Home was unaware that she had ever left Scotland.

After the introductions had been completed Mrs. Campbell asked how she could be of help.

“I was hoping you might allow us to have a word with one of your residents.”

“Yes, of course, Sir Charles. May I inquire who it is you wish to see?” she asked.

“A Miss Benson,” explained Charlie. “You see—”

“Oh, Sir Charles, haven’t you heard?”

“Heard?” said Charlie.

“Yes. Miss Benson’s been dead this past week. In fact, we buried her on Thursday.”

For a second time that day Charlie’s legs gave way and Trevor Roberts had quickly to take his client by the elbow and guided him to the nearest chair.

“Oh, I am sorry,” said the matron. “I had no idea you were such a close friend.” Charlie didn’t say anything. “And have you come all the way from London especially to see her?”

“Yes, he did,” said Trevor Roberts. “Has Miss Benson had any other visitors from England recently?”

“No,” said the matron without hesitation. “She received very few callers towards the end. One or two from Adelaide but never one from Britain,” she added with an edge to her voice.

“And did she ever mention to you anyone called Cathy Ross or Margaret Trentham?”

Mrs. Campbell thought deeply for a moment. “No,” she said eventually. ?

?At least, not to my recollection.”

“Then I think perhaps we should leave, Sir Charles, as there’s no point in taking up any more of Mrs. Campbell’s time.”

“I agree,” said Charlie quietly. “And thank you, Matron.” Roberts helped him to his feet and Mrs. Campbell accompanied them both back along the corridor towards the front door.

“Will you be returning to Britain shortly, Sir Charles?” she asked.

“Yes, probably tomorrow.”

“Would it be a terrible inconvenience if I were to ask you to post a letter for me once you are back in London?”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Charlie.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you with this task in normal circumstances,” said the matron, “but as it directly concerns Miss Benson…”

Both men stopped in their tracks and stared down at the prim Scottish lady. She also came to a halt and held her hands together in front of her.

“It’s not simply that I wish to save the postage, you understand, Sir Charles, which is what most folk would accuse my clan of. In fact, the exact opposite is the case, for my only desire is to make a speedy refund to Miss Benson’s benefactors.”

“Miss Benson’s benefactors?” said Charlie and Roberts in unison.

“Aye,” the matron said, standing her full height of five feet and half an inch. “We are not in the habit at Maple Lodge of charging residents who have died, Mr. Roberts. After all, as I’m sure you would agree, that would be dishonest.”

“Of course it would be, Matron.”

“And so, although we insist on three months’ payment in advance, we also refund any sums left over when a resident has passed away. After any outstanding bills have been covered, you understand.”

“I understand,” said Charlie as he stared down at the lady, a look of hope in his eyes.

“So if you will be kind enough to wait just a wee moment, I’ll be away and retrieve the letter from my office.” She turned and headed back to her room a few yards farther down the corridor.