Sleeping Murder (Miss Marple 13)

“Well, we had our suspicions … but mind you, it wasn’t more than suspicions. And as far as I’m concerned, I never saw anything at all. But Lily who, as I told you, was a sharp kind of girl, Lily had her ideas—had had them for a long time. ‘Mark my words,’ she used to say. ‘That chap’s sweet on her. Only got to see him looking at her as she pours out the tea. And does his wife look daggers!’”

“I see. And who was the—er—chap?”

“Now I’m afraid, sir, I just don’t remember his name. Not after all these years. A Captain—Esdale—no, that wasn?

??t it—Emery—no. I have a kind of feeling it began with an E. Or it might have been H. Rather an unusual kind of name. But I’ve never even thought of it for sixteen years. He and his wife were staying at the Royal Clarence.”

“Summer visitors?”

“Yes, but I think that he—or maybe both of them—had known Mrs. Halliday before. They came to the house quite often. Anyway, according to Lily he was sweet on Mrs. Halliday.”

“And his wife didn’t like it.”

“No, sir … But mind you, I never believed for a moment that there was anything wrong about it. And I still don’t know what to think.”

Gwenda asked, “Were they still here—at the Royal Clarence—when—when Helen—my stepmother went away?”

“As far as I recollect they went away just about the same time, a day earlier or a day later—anyway, it was close enough to make people talk. But I never heard anything definite. It was all kept very quiet if it was so. Quite a nine days’ wonder Mrs. Halliday going off like that, so sudden. But people did say she’d always been flighty—not that I ever saw anything of the kind myself. I wouldn’t have been willing to go to Norfolk with them if I’d thought that.”

For a moment three people stared at her intently. Then Giles said, “Norfolk? Were they going to Norfolk?”

“Yes, sir. They’d bought a house there. Mrs. Halliday told me about three weeks before—before all this happened. She asked me if I’d come with them when they moved, and I said I would. After all, I’d never been away from Dillmouth, and I thought perhaps I’d like a change—seeing as I liked the family.”

“I never heard they had bought a house in Norfolk,” said Giles.

“Well, it’s funny you should say that, sir, because Mrs. Halliday seemed to want it kept very quiet. She asked me not to speak about it to anyone at all—so of course I didn’t. But she’d been wanting to go away from Dillmouth for some time. She’d been pressing Major Halliday to go, but he liked it at Dillmouth. I even believe he wrote to Mrs. Findeyson whom St. Catherine’s belonged to, asking if she’d consider selling it. But Mrs. Halliday was dead against it. She seemed to have turned right against Dillmouth. It’s almost as though she was afraid to stop there.”

The words came out quite naturally, yet at the sound of them the three people listening again stiffened to attention.

Giles said, “You don’t think she wanted to go to Norfolk to be near this—the man whose name you can’t remember?”

Edith Pagett looked distressed.

“Oh indeed, sir, I wouldn’t like to think that. And I don’t think it, not for a moment. Besides I don’t think that—I remember now—they came from up North somewhere, that lady and gentleman did. Northumberland, I think it was. Anyway, they liked coming south for a holiday because it was so mild down here.”

Gwenda said: “She was afraid of something, wasn’t she? Or of someone? My stepmother, I mean.”

“I do remember—now that you say that—”

“Yes?”

“Lily came into the kitchen one day. She’d been dusting the stairs, and she said, ‘Ructions!’ she said. She had a very common way of talking sometimes, Lily had, so you must excuse me.

“So I asked her what she meant and she said that the missus had come in from the garden with the master into the drawing room and the door to the hall being open, Lily heard what they said.

“‘I’m afraid of you,’ that’s what Mrs. Halliday had said.

“‘And she sounded scared too,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve been afraid of you for a long time. You’re mad. You’re not normal. Go away and leave me alone. You must leave me alone. I’m frightened. I think, underneath, I’ve always been frightened of you... .’

“Something of that kind—of course I can’t say now to the exact words. But Lily, she took it very seriously, and that’s why, after it all happened, she—”

Edith Pagett stopped dead. A curious frightened look came over her face.

“I didn’t mean, I’m sure—” she began. “Excuse me, madam, my tongue runs away with me.”

Giles said gently: “Please tell us, Edith. It’s really important, you see, that we should know. It’s all a long time ago now, but we’ve got to know.”

“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said Edith helplessly.

Miss Marple asked: “What was it Lily didn’t believe—or did believe?”

Edith Pagett said apologetically: “Lily was always one to get ideas in her head. I never took no notice of them. She was always one for going to the pictures and she got a lot of silly melodramatic ideas that way. She was out at the pictures the night it happened—and what’s more she took Layonee with her—and very wrong that was, and I told her so. ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s not leaving the child alone in the house. You’re down in the kitchen and the master and the missus will be in later and anyway that child never wakes once she’s off to sleep.’ But it was wrong, and I told her so, though of course I never knew about Layonee going till afterwards. If I had, I’d have run up to see she—you, I mean, Miss Gwenda—were quite all right. You can’t hear a thing from the kitchen when the baize door’s shut.”

Edith Pagett paused and then went on: “I was doing some ironing. The evening passed ever so quick and the first thing I knew Dr. Kennedy came out in the kitchen and asked me where Lily was and I said it was her night off but she’d be in any minute now and sure enough she came in that very minute and he took her upstairs to the mistress’s room. Wanted to know if she’d taken any clothes away with her, and what. So Lily looked about and told him and then she come down to me. All agog she was. ‘She’s hooked it,’ she said. ‘Gone off with someone. The master’s all in. Had a stroke or something. Apparently it’s been a terrible shock to him. More fool he. He ought to have seen it coming.’ ‘You shouldn’t speak like that,’ I said. ‘How do you know she’s gone off with anybody? Maybe she had a telegram from a sick relation.’ ‘Sick relation my foot,’ Lily says (always a common way of speaking, as I said). ‘She left a note.’ ‘Who’s she gone off with?’ I said. ‘Who do you think?’ Lily said. ‘Not likely to be Mr. Sobersides Fane, for all his sheep’s eyes and the way he follows her round like a dog.’ So I said, ‘You think it’s Captain—whatever his name was.’ And she said, ‘He’s my bet. Unless it’s our mystery man in the flashy car.’ (That’s just a silly joke we had.) And I said, ‘I don’t believe it. Not Mrs. Halliday. She wouldn’t do a thing like that.’ And Lily says, ‘Well, it seems she’s done it.’

“All this was at first, you understand. But later on, up in our bedroom, Lily woke me up. ‘Look here,’ she says. ‘It’s all wrong.’ ‘What’s wrong?’ I said. And she said, ‘Those clothes.’ ‘Whatever are you talking about?’ I said. ‘Listen, Edie,’ she said. ‘I went through her clothes because the doctor asked me to. And there’s a suitcase gone and enough to fill it—but they’re the wrong things.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I said. And Lily said, ‘She took an evening dress, her grey and silver—but she didn’t take her evening belt and brassière, nor the slip that goes with it, and she took her gold brocade evening shoes, not the silver strap ones. And she took her green tweed—which she never wears until late on in the autumn, but she didn’t take that fancy pullover and she took her lace blouses that she only wears with a town suit. Oh and her undies, too, they were a job lot. You mark my words, Edie,’ Lily said. ‘She’s not gone away at all. The master’s done her in.’

“Well, that made me wide awake. I sat right up and asked her what on earth she was talking about.

“‘Just like it was in the News of the World last week,’ Lily says. ‘The master found she’d been carrying on and he killed her and put her down in the cellar and buried her under the floor. You’d never hear anything because it’s under the front hall. That’s what he’s done, and then he packed a suitcase to make it look as though she’d gone away. But that’s where she is—under the cellar floor. She never left this house alive.’ I gave her a piece of my mind then, saying such aw

ful things. But I’ll admit I slipped down to the cellar the next morning. But there, it was all just as usual and nothing disturbed and no digging been done—and I went and told Lily she’d just been making a fool of herself, but she stuck to it as the master had done her in. ‘Remember,’ she says, ‘she was scared to death of him. I heard her telling him so.’ ‘And that’s just where you’re wrong, my girl,’ I said, ‘because it wasn’t the master at all. Just after you’d told me, that day, I looked out of the window and there was the master coming down the hill with his golf clubs, so it couldn’t have been him who was with the mistress in the drawing room. It was someone else.’”

The words echoed lingeringly in the comfortable commonplace sitting room.

Giles said softly under his breath, “It was someone else….”

Fifteen

AN ADDRESS

The Royal Clarence was the oldest hotel in the town. It had a mellow bowfronted façade and an old-world atmosphere. It still catered for the type of family who came for a month to the seaside.

Miss Narracott who presided behind the reception desk was a full-bosomed lady of forty-seven with an old-fashioned style of hairdressing.

She unbent to Giles whom her accurate eye summed up as “one of our nice people.” And Giles, who had a ready tongue and a persuasive way with him when he liked, spun a very good tale. He had a bet on with his wife—about her godmother—and whether she had stayed at the Royal Clarence eighteen years ago. His wife had said that they could never settle the dispute because of course all the old registers would be thrown away by this time, but he had said Nonsense. An establishment like the Royal Clarence would keep its registers. They must go back for a hundred years.

“Well, not quite that, Mr. Reed. But we do keep all our old Visitors’ Books as we prefer to call them. Very interesting names in them, too. Why, the King stayed here once when he was Prince of Wales, and Princess Adlemar of Holstein-Rotz used to come every winter with her lady-in-waiting. And we’ve had some very famous novelists, too, and Mr. Dovey, the portrait-painter.”