Danger Point

Chapter 24

THEY walked down into the village. It took quite a long time to reach the post office, because Dale stopped and spoke to everyone they met. He stood with his hand on Lisle’s shoulder or his arm through hers and told young Mrs. Crisp who was old Obadiah’s grand-daughter-in-law, and his elderly daughter Aggie, and Mrs. Cooper, and Mrs. Maggs the baker’s wife, and quite a lot of other people, how shocked and distressed they both were about poor Cissie’s accident.

“I’ve always said some of those places up on Tane Head ought to be railed off. They’re not really safe in the dusk.”

Young Mrs. Crisp said, “No, that’s right,” and Aggie remembered her father saying that a boy fell over that very place getting on for seventy years ago, and there was some talk about putting up a railing then, only nothing ever got done. Mrs. Cooper was of the opinion that if they railed the whole of the headland off, it would be a good thing and no harm done.

“Never allowed to go up there, my sisters and I weren’t, not without it was broad daylight. That sort of lonely place is just putting yourself in the way of trouble – that’s what my mother used to say. There were seven of us, and we could go to church with our young men Sunday evening, or we could take a walk along the Ledlington road, but go up on the headland we couldn’t, not without it was a party.”

Dale laughed a little.

“Are you as strict as that with Mary and Mabel? You know, I’m almost afraid to tell you that Lady Steyne and I went up there to see the sunset last night. My wife had a headache and cried off.” He put his arm round Lisle’s shoulders for a moment. “You see what you’ve done, darling – Alicia and I won’t have a rag of character left. I ought to have insisted on taking a chaperone. Next time I shall take Mrs. Cooper.”

That massive lady laughed till all her chins wobbled.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she said. “When I couldn’t go up on the headland I was always wanting to – and now I can please myself, why, I wouldn’t go if you paid me. I should have to go in for some of this slimming first.” She sobered suddenly. “Well, it’s a shocking thing about Cissie, isn’t it? Her poor aunt’s taking on something cruel.”

Lisle did her part. She said “Darling” when she spoke to Dale, and forced a shy smile when he put a hand on her arm. If she looked pale and distressed, it was put down to the shock of Cissie’s death. She was very well liked in the village for her gentle, friendly ways. The present verdict was that she had a feeling heart.

Dale did nearly all the talking as they made their slow progress up the village street. He had a pleasant smile and greeting for everyone. He remembered to ask about Mrs. James Crisp’s mother who had had a stroke, and young Mrs. Crisp’s baby who was being christened on Sunday. He knew all about the eldest Cooper boy having got a rise, and he sympathised with the smallest of the Cole tribe who had fallen over its own feet and grazed a chubby knee. And to all and sundry, with Lisle smiling at his side, he proclaimed that he and Alicia Steyne had watched last night’s sunset from the top of Tane Head.

“Do you remember how we used to picnic up there, Lucy? Nobody’s ever made rock buns as good as yours were. And you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who put enough butter into a sandwich.”

Mrs. William Crisp, who had been cook at Tanfield eighteen years before, emitted a gratified chuckle.

“Always one for sandwiches, you were, Mr. Dale.”

The whole thing was very well done. Dale had reason to feel pleased with himself. By the time he and Alicia came to give their evidence at the inquest every soul in the village would already know that they had re-visited their old picnic place to see the sun go down. Robbed of any appearance of secrecy, laughed over in Lisle’s presence, the episode would suggest only one possible point of interest, their encounter with Pell.

They found Miss Cole in her parlour behind the shop. One of her brother James’ daughters was with her, a pretty, plump girl whose eyes were red with weeping, not because she and Cissie had ever been particular friends, but because it was the first time she had met the violence of passion and death at closer quarters than the cinema screen or the headlines of the penny press.

Miss Cole herself sat in her armchair, rocking herself and weeping aloud. She got up for Mr. and Mrs. Jerningham, transferred her handkerchief to her left hand, and, pressing it to her eyes, greeted them with a fresh burst of sobbing.

“Such a shock as it’s been! Oh, Mrs. Jerningham – who’d have thought it – when we were talking so comfortable only yesterday, and poor Cissie so pleased to go up and see you. I’m sure I don’t know what I’d have felt if I’d known that was the last I’d see of her. ‘It’s no good my going, Aunt,’ she said. ‘Talking to anyone doesn’t stop you being fond of a person – I only wish it did,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t go, only Mrs. Jerningham’s that sweet I’d go anywhere if it was to see her.’ Oh dear – and I said, ‘It’s a lovely evening for a walk, and do you good to get a bit of fresh air, sticking indoors the way you do. And don’t you be late, Cissie,’ I said – and I was thinking of that Pell when I said it. And she stood just over there by the door and looked back over her shoulder, and, ‘Who’s going to be late?’ she said. And that was the last I saw of her.” She dabbed fiercely at her eyes, blew her nose, and caught Dale by the sleeve. “Mr. Jerningham, they’ll get him, won’t they – that Pell?”

“I should think so,” said Dale. “But you know, Miss Cole, you mustn’t make up your mind that he had anything to do with it. She may have fallen.”

Her grasp tightened. She stopped crying and her voice took on an angry tone.

“Are you going to tell me you think Cissie would throw herself over? And no call to do it, Mr. Jerningham, because she was a good girl, Cissie was, and I’m not going to have anyone saying she wasn’t! He made her fond of him, that Pell did, but that’s as far as it went. And I don’t say she wasn’t unhappy, but she’d no call to throw herself over any cliffs. Always after her, that Pell was, and when he couldn’t get what he wanted he pushed her over. I knew just such another case when I was a girl over at Ledstock visiting my granny – pushed her in a pond, the man did, because she wouldn’t give in to him. And that’s what Pell did to poor Cissie – you can’t get from it. All I want is to know that the police have got him.” She turned back to Lisle and began to cry again. “I’m sure it’s very kind of you and Mr. Jerningham, and you must excuse me. They won’t even let me have her here, not till after the inquest. I’m sure I never thought anyone in our family would come to be a police case. There’s been a gentleman here from the Ledlington Gazette wanting her photograph, and I gave him the snapshot Mr. Rafe took of her and me when you had the church fête in June. It was the best photo Cissie ever had, so I let the gentleman have it. I’m sure it’s wonderful how clever Mr. Rafe is with that camera – and no bigger than the palm of your hand. Oh, Mrs. Jerningham, it doesn’t seem possible when you think about the fête and what a nice time we had! I’m sure it was so kind of you and Mr. Jerningham-”

Lisle had very little to say. She held Miss Cole’s hand, and sometimes spoke softly to her. She had a saddened sense of what a lonely future the poor thing would have now that Cissie was gone. There were tears in her own eyes when she kissed her and came away.

As they walked back, Dale said in a curious tone,

“You did her good.”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m so sorry for her.”

“That’s what she liked. You let her talk, you were sorry for her, and you kissed her when you came away. It was all just right.”

Was it? Lisle wondered if it was. Things had left off being right. They were confused, difficult, unendurable, but they had to be endured.

She walked home in silence. Just before they reached the house Dale put his hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you, darling,” he said.