Death and the Maiden

Chapter Eleven

‘On my word, Master, this is a gallant Trout, what shall we do with him?’

SIR IZAAK WALTON (The Compleat Angler)

LAURA returned at six next day with a very unwilling Connie. They had read in the early editions of the evening paper of the discovery of the body at the weir. Mrs Bradley had been on the telephone to Scotland Yard, the Tidsons were in their room, and the only person to see the two girls arrive was Thomas, who met them in the vestibule.

‘Where’s everybody, Thomas?’ enquired Laura.

Thomas gave her a brief theory of his own:

‘I’ll be thinking they are all getting through the time, Miss Menzies; just getting through the time, as ye might say.’

‘That’s his delicate way of saying they’re all in a queue for the bathrooms, I suppose,’ said Laura. ‘Come on. We’d better follow suit. There isn’t too much time if you’re going to unpack as well.’

‘I’m not going to unpack. I’m not going to stay,’ said Connie. ‘I can’t spend another night here. It isn’t safe. I keep telling you. Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Bless you, duck, I believe every syllable you utter. But you don’t avoid peril by running away and being followed. Face it, and have it out, that’s my idea. Besides, Mrs Croc. will want to talk to you.’

‘Who?’

‘Mrs Bradley. So come on up, and I’ll find out whether she can see us.’ She collared the reluctant Connie and bundled her up the stairs.

Mrs Bradley invited them in. She was combing her hair, and saw them first in the mirror.

‘Ah,’ she said, turning round. ‘Chiswick?’

‘Not quite. That Brown address on the Great West Road,’ said Laura. ‘She says – here, you go on,’ she added, turning to Connie. Connie gave way before two pairs of anxious eyes.

‘We let it,’ said Connie. ‘The flat, I mean. My aunt does. The name of the tenant is Brown, but he’s in Manchester part of the time. He’s in Manchester now, and I knew I could hide in the flat until he came back. That’s why I went. I knew he wouldn’t mind, and when he comes back—’

‘Nonsense!’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Don’t tell me lies. There is no tenant named Brown. Whose is the flat?’

‘It belongs to Uncle Edris, I think,’ said Connie. ‘He wrote the letter about the naiad from there. I thought I could hide there for the time. I knew he’d be staying on here, and I begin my new job next month, and then I—’

‘Where did you spend last night?’ asked Mrs Bradley. ‘And what made you leave this place so late at night?’

Connie looked frightened and did not answer.

‘Ah,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Well, never mind. We shall find these things out in good time. How long did you propose to remain in Chiswick?’

‘Hardly any time,’ said Connie quickly. ‘I’ve been asked to live in at my job. I – if it weren’t for Uncle Edris I should have lived in the West End in a mews.’

‘Expensive, in these days, surely?’

‘I was going to share with three friends.’

‘A commodious sort of mews,’ said Laura, grinning. ‘How many rooms? – Oh, sorry! Not my cue.’

‘Well, that explains all that,’ said Mrs Bradley, speaking, her acute and intelligent secretary thought, in some haste. ‘Laura, go off and get ready for dinner. Now, child,’ she added kindly to Connie when Laura had gone, ‘suppose you sit down in that armchair whilst I finish my hair, and explain to me why you ran away.’

‘I was afraid of the Tidsons,’ said Connie with simplicity.

‘Both of them?’

‘Yes. They pumped me about my parents. I didn’t like it.’

‘What did they want to know?’

‘The usual things. Whether my father had been rich, and who my mother’s people were, and whether I was related to auntie’s nephew Arthur, and how long I had been living with auntie, and whether she had adopted me legally – that sort of thing. I thought it was beastly cheek. It certainly was no concern of theirs.’

‘I can see why it annoyed, but not why it frightened you, child.’

‘Perhaps I’ve been silly over that, but, ever since the ghost, I’ve felt them conspiring against me. Oh, I know you’re a psychiatrist, and that you’ve got all sort of weird names for people who think they’re being followed and persecuted and all that, but it isn’t my being crazy, honestly it isn’t! They’re dead against me, I know they are! And they’re sponging on poor Aunt Prissie all the time! They’re beasts! I hate and loathe them! I had Aunt Prissie first, and I mean to keep her, and I’m not going to stay any longer to play second fiddle to Crete Tidson, so nobody need expect it!’

‘I shouldn’t think anybody does expect it, though,’ said Mrs Bradley, her voice dropping like honey after this wild oration. Connie sat humped in the armchair, and stared miserably and resentfully out of the window.

‘That’s all you know!’ she rather rudely retorted.

‘No, it isn’t, quite,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Come and do up these fasteners for me, there’s a good child.’

Connie got up and slouched over to where Mrs Bradley was standing. She looked sulky, but, as Mrs Bradley realized with pity, she was almost at the end of her nerves.

‘And now,’ said Mrs Bradley, kindly, but with the utmost decision, ‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to stay at my house, in the village of Wandles Parva, until you begin your new job. No one can get at you there. Would you like to go there to-night? If so, I will order a car. It is not above twenty miles from here, and no one except Laura Menzies – and I think you’ll agree that she can be trusted – knows anything about it or where it is.’

‘Oh, if only I could get away! Would there be people there? I mean, I couldn’t bear to be alone,’ said Connie, whose mind was as much (or as little) confused as this speech suggested.

‘There are my servants, and my chauffeur will be there. You’ll like George. A most sturdy fellow. Come downstairs with me, and we’ll send for him. That will be very much better than hiring a car.’

‘But I don’t want to stay here another minute! I don’t want to meet the Tidsons ever again! You don’t understand – I could never tell you the things he’s said to me!’

‘You shall not meet them again,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘You can wait in here instead of coming downstairs. When the car arrives – we shall all be at dinner, I should think – all you have to do is to answer Laura’s knock – three quick raps on your door – and take yourself off as fast as ever you can go. And you’d better not come back without sending me word.’

‘And you’ll let Aunt Prissie know? You won’t let her worry, will you? You’ll let her know I’m safe, but not where I’ve gone!’

‘I’ll reassure her. Don’t worry. George will bring the car to the hotel entrance at about a quarter to eight. We never finish dinner before eight, so that should allow you to be well away from here before we come out of the dining-room.’

‘It’s decent of you,’ said Connie. She hesitated, flushed, and then added, ‘I only wish I could tell you everything, but you wouldn’t want to know it, and, anyway, it wouldn’t be fair. I’ve got to sweat it out by myself.’

‘No, you haven’t, child. And why wouldn’t it be fair?’

‘It’s too much responsibility,’ said Connie, looking completely miserable. ‘But don’t worry! I’ll get by all right. I mean to.’

‘You haven’t told me the truth about your behaviour, have you?’ said Mrs Bradley. Connie looked at her and then answered:

‘No, not quite. But you can always pump Uncle Edris.’

Mrs Bradley laughed, but Connie did not join in this response. After another silence, she said abruptly:

‘I suppose you’ve never thought of killing a person?’

‘Oh, yes, I have,’ Mrs Bradley equably replied. ‘A harmless person?’

‘No – not exactly harmless. Can anyone we have the urge to kill be considered harmless, do you think?’

‘Oh, you couldn’t understand how I feel!’

‘Oh, yes, I think I can,’ said Mrs Bradley gently. ‘But before I made any definite confessions, I’d think them over if I were you. You might be sorry you’d trusted me, you know. Did you think about finger-prints, I wonder?’

‘Oh, I haven’t done anything terrible! Well, not so very terrible,’ said Connie hastily. She gave a half-glance at Mrs Bradley’s face and then broke down. ‘I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to! Truly I didn’t mean to! I must have been mad! It was all Uncle Edris! I hate him! You say “Don’t confess,” but you want me to confess, and I will! I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him! I’m going to get rid of him somehow! I won’t let him live to kill Arthur!’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said Mrs Bradley, looking at her sternly but with compassion. ‘Therefore you’ll do as I say.’

‘And suppose I wont’?’

‘“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down!”’

‘Yes, I believe you would,’ said Connie, with a look half-beseeching, half-terrified. ‘All right, then, I’ll go.’

‘And now for our walk,’ said Alice. It was barely six o’clock and the morning was pale, fair and misty, with the promise of heat to come. The water-meadows, faintly shrouded, were as beautiful as the fields of the cloths of heaven, and the sound of waters was everywhere. The waters themselves, blue-grey, full-flood, deep-pooled, clear, swirling and haunted with deep weed, furtive fish and the legendary freshness of cresses, divided yet held the landscape.

Mrs Bradley and Alice walked for some time without speaking. Alice, young, slightly inhibited, impressionable, a pace ahead of the older woman, was far more in tune with the beauty and coldness of the morning than with the object of the walk itself, and showed this by her silence and the distance she remained ahead.

By the time they reached the wooden bridge, however, her grey eyes were searching the immediate landscape, and the morning, now rapidly widening to red and gold, showed her eager, alert and intense, still leading Mrs Bradley along the narrowing path towards St Cross, but now the person of action more than of contemplation.

There were no clues to Mr Tidson’s activities of the previous afternoon. Whatever he had done, or wherever he had gone, he seemed to have left no traces of his actions and no sort of signposts to indicate which direction he had taken.

‘It’s no good,’ said Alice. ‘There’s nothing to give him away.’

‘Then we had better stop using our eyes and try using our brains, I suppose,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘How far along here do you know he came? I mean, which is approximately the point at which you last saw him?’

‘Oh, much further back: before you get to the bridge from the College playing-fields.’

‘Right. Let’s get back, then, and start from there.’

‘Good heavens!’ cried Alice. ‘Do you really think so? That is, if I see what you mean!’

‘What has occurred to you, child?’

‘Why, that he could have crossed into the school playing-fields! I didn’t think of looking for him there. Don’t you see? If he’d done that, all he had to do then was to go along the river, still at the edge of the playing-fields, until he got to that little track by which you can leave the playing-fields and get on to the road! That’s what he did, I feel certain! Then he hurried along to St Cross – he could have outdistanced me easily while I searched the river banks to find him – left his fishing rod with those boys to make me think he’d gone into the St Cross grounds, hidden in the entrance to one of the private houses opposite St Cross gatehouse, and gone off to commit a murder or push the boy’s body down the bank, or anything else he pleased, without my knowing a thing! It would have given him plenty of time, and time, I imagine, was the thing of most importance.’

‘There’s something in that,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Good for you! I think there isn’t much doubt that you’ve worked out how he dodged you. There is just one more thing, though, that we ought to look out for, and—’

Alice stood still.

‘Good heavens! Do you see what I see?’ she exclaimed. ‘Do look! The water-nymph!’

Mrs Bradley glanced, stared, looked at the surrounding reeds and willow trees, and then again at the water. A splendid, naked figure, firm, buxom and rosy, had just dived over a great clump of flowering rushes and, entering the water like a spear-thrust, had left nothing but the widening ripples and the half-echo of a splash to convince the watchers that they had not been mistaken.

Alice had clasped her strong and biting fingers on Mrs Bradley’s wrist. She now disengaged them, and, bending low, began to stalk the water-nymph, losing sight of the river in her anxiety to remain unseen.

Left alone, with fifty feet of long, wet grass between herself and the nymph, Mrs Bradley suddenly cackled, and, leaving Alice to her Boy Scout devices, she picked up her skirts and ran, with surprising speed and agility, in the direction of the path which led from the College bridge to the plank and handrail structure which carried the College path across the Itchen. Here she leaned on the rail and had the felicity to find, in the six-foot pool below the bridge, her handsome and graceless secretary.

‘Rather an outsize in grayling or trout,’ said Mrs Bradley.

‘Hullo,’ said Laura. ‘Lucky it was you, and not the bishop or someone!’

‘The bishop might not object,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘but I would not care to answer for the dean. Why do you introduce your handsome, heathen form into the waters sacred to Saint Swithun?’

Laura paddled to the bank and climbed out. She had a piece of green waterweed dripping from the top of her head and a long streak of mud from the bank on one rosy and muscular thigh. It occurred to Mrs Bradley that Mr Tidson might have looked further for his naiad and fared worse.

‘Ah, well,’ she said, observing Laura’s lovely lines with detachment and admiration, ‘“a rainbow and a cuckoo’s song may never come together again; may never come, this side the tomb.” Get into the water again, child. You’ll turn cold.’

Laura squelched in soft mud to the shallows, walked deeper, leaned confidently forward, and gently re-entered the pool. Then she climbed to the rail of the bridge, balanced, first precariously and then with confidence there, drew breath and filled her deep lungs, flattened an already flat belly, soared like the sail of a yacht and took off with the flight of a swallow.

Meanwhile the over-sensitive Alice had abandoned her writhings through mint, forget-me-not, moon-daisies, purple loostrife and fools’ parsley, and now came on to the path and up to the bridge.

‘Well, I’m dashed!’ she said, at sight of the naked Laura. ‘Here, Dog, wait for me!’ In a wriggle, a squirm and a couple of heaving thrusts she was out of her clothes, and two seconds later she had entered the six-foot pool, an arrow of thin, pale light, like a willow wand newly-peeled or the sound of a silver trumpet.

Mrs Bradley sighed, and, as though in echo of her nostalgia, from far away on the other side of the meadows a cow lowed, only once, and sadly, and she thought of the Border ballads, and Apuleius’ Eros and Psyche, and Hans Anderson’s little mermaid, and Frederick Ashton’s Leda and the Swan.

The risen sun flung gold upon the shallows of the water, but the deep pool kept its shadow and greenish gloom. Larks ascended. The sky began to deepen and grow nearer. It was by this time intensely blue, and gave promise of the finest day of the summer. A breeze, very soon to die away and give place to intense and vital warmth, began to stir among the leaves of the willows, and the world was again composed of water, the air and the sun, as it had been at the time of Creation.

Mrs Bradley cheered up. The nymphs emerged, and shared Laura’s towel beneath a pollarded willow, and then they trotted fast – Mrs Bradley retained an old-fashioned faith in the benefits of blood-stirring exercise after bathing – in the direction of the road bridge a couple of hundred yards off. They crossed the bridge and Mrs Bradley, who had been walking rapidly behind them, found them leaning over the second bridge, east of the first, and watching the water dividing itself between a tiny lock, and a culvert on the opposite side of the road.

She joined them for the next ten minutes, for rushing water has the fascination of its own apparent endlessness, and then the three walked on together. They turned alongside the railway path below Saint Catherine’s Hill, and soon reached the spot where Alice had seen the boy lying on his face on the concrete below the weir. Laura and Alice poked about, and Mrs Bradley, seated on her waterproof coat on the brickwork, watched them with benign indifference until Laura, who had gone down stream a little, came running back.

‘I think I’ve found the raft!’ she said. ‘Come and see! Those kids could identify it, couldn’t they?’