Shroud for a Nightingale

I

The Matron and the Sisters had their living-quarters on the third floor of Nightingale House. When he reached the top of the staircase Dalgliesh saw that the south-west wing had been cut off from the rest of the landing by a specially constructed partition in white-painted wood in which a door, meanly proportioned and insubstantial in contrast to the high ceiling and oak-lined walls, bore the legend “Matron’s Flat”. There was a push bell, but before pressing it he briefly explored the corridor. It was similar to‘ the one below but fitted with a red carpet which, although faded and scuffed, gave an illusion of comfort to the emptiness of this upper floor.

Dalgliesh moved silently from door to door. Each bore a handwritten name card slotted into the brass holder. He saw that Sister Brumfett occupied the room immediately adjacent to Matron’s flat. Next was a bathroom, functionally divided into three mean cubicles, each with its bath and lavatory. The slot on the next door bore Sister Gearing’s name; the next two rooms were empty. Sister Rolfe was at the north end of the corridor immediately next to the kitchen and utility room. Dalgliesh had no authority to enter any of the bedrooms but he tentatively turned the handles on each of the doors. As he expected, they were locked.

The Matron herself opened the door of her flat to him within seconds of his ring, and he followed her into the sitting-room. Its size and magnificence caught the breath. It occupied the whole of the south-west turret, an immense white-painted octagonal room, the ceiling starred in patterns of gold and pale blue, and with two huge windows facing out towards the hospital. One of the walls was lined from ceiling to floor with white bookcases. Dalgliesh resisted the impertinence of walking casually towards them in the hope of assessing Mary Taylor’s character by her taste in literature. But he could see from where he stood that there were no textbooks, no bound official reports or sloping banks of files. This was a living-room, not an office.

An open fire burnt in the grate, the wood still crackling with its recent kindling. It had as yet made no impression on the air of the room which was cold and very still. Matron was wearing a short scarlet cape over her gray dress. She had taken off her head-dress and the huge coil of yellow hair lay like a burden on the frail, etiolated neck.

She was fortunate, he thought, to have been born in an age which could appreciate individuality of feature and form, owing everything to bone structure and nothing to the gentle nuances of femininity. A century ago she would have been called ugly, even grotesque. But today most men would think her interesting, and some might even describe her as beautiful. For Dalgliesh she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met.

Placed precisely in the middle of the three windows was a sturdy oak table bearing a large black-and-white telescope. Dalgliesh saw that this was no amateur’s toy but an expensive and sophisticated instrument It dominated the room. The Matron saw his eyes upon it and said:

“Are you interested in astronomy?”

“Not particularly.”

She smiled. “ ‘Le silence eternel de ces espaces infinis m’affraie’?”

“Discomforts rather than terrifies. It’s probably my vanity. I can’t interest myself in anything which I not only don’t understand but know that I have no prospect of ever understanding.”

“That for me is the attraction. It’s a form of escapism, even of voyeurism, I suppose-this absorption in an impersonal universe which I can’t do anything to influence or control and, better still, which no one expects me to. It’s an abdication of responsibility. It restores personal problems to their proper proportion.”

She motioned Dalgliesh towards the black leather sofa in front of the fire. Before it, a low table held a tray with a coffee percolator, hot milk, crystal sugar and two cups.

As he seated himself, he smiled and said: “If I want to indulge in humility or speculate on the incomprehensible, I prefer to look at a primrose. The expense is nugatory, the pleasure is more immediate, and the moral just as valid.”

The mobile mouth mocked him.

“And at least you restrict your indulgence in these dangerous philosophical speculations to a few short weeks in the spring.”

The conversation is, he thought, a verbal pavane. If I’m not careful I shall begin to enjoy it. I wonder when she will get down to business. Or is she expecting me to make the first move? And why not? It is I who am the suppliant, the intruder.

As if reading his thoughts, she said suddenly:

“It’s odd that they should both have been such friendless girls, both orphans. It makes my task less onerous. There aren’t any desolated parents to be comforted, thank God. Nurse Pearce only had the grandparents who brought her up. He’s a retired miner and they live in some poverty in a cottage just outside Nottingham. They belong to a very puritanical religious sect and their only reaction to the child’s death was to say, ”God’s Will Be Done.“ It seemed an odd response to a tragedy which was so obviously the will of man.”

“So you think Nurse Pearce’s death was murder then?”

“Not necessarily. But I don’t accuse God of tampering with the intra-gastric drip.”

“And Nurse Fallon’s relatives?”

“None, as far as I know. She was asked for her next of kin when she first became a student and told us she was an orphan with no blood relations living. There was no reason to question it. It was probably true. But her death will be in the papers tomorrow and if there are any relatives or friends no doubt we shall be hearing from them. You’ve spoken to the students, I expect?”

“I’ve just had a preliminary talk with them as a group. I saw them in the demonstration room. It’s been useful in giving me a background to the case. They’ve all agreed to be fingerprinted and that’s being done now. I shall need the prints of everyone who was in Nightingale House last night and this morning, if only for elimination purposes. And I shall, of course, need to interview everyone separately. But I’m glad of this chance to see you first After all, you were in Amsterdam when Nurse Fallon died. That means there’s one less suspect for me to worry about”

He saw with surprise her knuckles whiten around the handle of the coffee pot Her face flushed. She closed her eyes and he thought he heard her sigh. He watched her a little disconcerted. What he had said must surely be obvious to a woman of her intelligence. He hardly knew why he had bothered to say it If this second death were murder, then anyone with an alibi covering the whole of yesterday evening and night must be free of suspicion. As if sensing his surprise, she said:

“I’m sorry. I must seem obtuse. I know it’s foolish to feel such relief at not being under suspicion when one knows anyway that one is innocent Perhaps it’s because none of us is innocent in any real sense. A psychologist could explain it, I’m sure. But ought you to be so confident? Couldn’t the poison- if it were poison-have been put into Fallon’s whisky bottle any time after she bought it or another and poisoned bottle substituted for the one she purchased? That could have been done before I left for Amsterdam on Tuesday evening.”

“I’m afraid you must resign yourself to innocence. Miss Fallon bought this particular bottle of whisky from Scunthorpe’s wine shop in the High Street yesterday afternoon, and took her first and only drink from it on the night she died. The bottle is still almost full, the whisky remaining is perfectly good whisky as far as we know, and the only prints on the bottle are Miss Fallon’s own.”

“You’ve worked very fast So the poison was put either into the glass after she’d poured her hot drink or into the sugar?”

“If she were poisoned. We cant be sure of anything all we get the P.M. report and perhaps not even then. The sugar is being tested but that is really only a formality. Most of the students helped themselves from that bowl when they had their early morning tea and at least two of the girls drank theirs. So that leaves us with the beaker of whisky and hot lemon. Miss Fallon made it very easy for a murderer. Apparently the whole of Nightingale House knew that if she didn’t go out in the evening, she watched the television until the program closed down. She was a poor sleeper and never went to bed early. When the television ended she would go to her room and undress. Then in her bedroom slippers and dressing-gown she would go to the little pantry on the second floor and make her nightcap. She kept the whisky in her room but she couldn’t make the drink there because there’s no water laid on and no means of heating it. So it was her habit to take the insulated tumbler with the whisky poured out ready and add the hot lemon in the pantry. A supply of lemons was kept there in the cupboard with the cocoa, coffee, chocolate and other items with which the nurses used to make their late night drinks. Then she would take the tumbler back to her room and leave it on the bedside locker while she had her bath. She always bathed quickly and she liked to get into bed immediately afterwards while she was still warm. I expect that’s why she made her drink before she went into the bathroom. By the time she got back to her room and into bed, the drink was precisely the right temperature. And apparently the routine never varied.”

The Matron said: “It’s rather frightening how much people get to know about each other’s habits in a small closed community like this. But, of course, it’s inevitable. There’s no real privacy. How can there be? I knew about the whisky, of course, but it hardly seemed my business. The girl certainly wasn’t an incipient alcoholic and she wasn’t handing it out to the younger students. At her age she was entitled to her own choice of nightcap.”

Dalgliesh asked how the Matron had learned about the whisky.

“Nurse Pearce told me. She asked to see me and gave me the information in a spirit of I don’t want to tell tales but I think you ought to know‘. Drink and the devil were one and the same to Nurse Pearce. But I don’t think Fallon made any secret of the whisky drinking. How could she? As I said, we know about each other’s little habits. But there are some things, of course, that we don’t know. Josephine Fallon Was a very private person. I can’t give you any information about her life outside the hospital and I doubt whether anyone here can.”

“Who was her friend here? She must have had someone she confided in, surely? Isn’t that necessary for any woman in this kind of closed community?”

She looked at him a little strangely.

“Yes. We all need someone. But I think Fallon needed a friend less than most She was remarkably self-sufficient If she confided in anyone it would be Madeleine Goodale.”

The plain one with the round face and large spectacles?“

Dalgliesh recalled her. It was not an unattractive face, mainly because of the good skin and the intelligence of those large gray eyes behind the thick horn rims. But Nurse Goodale could never be other than plain. He thought he could picture her future; the years of training willingly endured, the success in examinations; the gradually increasing responsibility until, at last, she too was a Matron. It was not unusual for such a girl to be friendly with a more attractive woman. It was one way of gaining at least a vicarious share in a more romantic, less dedicated life. As if reading his thoughts, Miss Taylor said:

“Nurse Goodale is one of our most efficient nurses. I was hoping that she would stay on after her training to take a post as staff nurse. But that is hardly likely. She’s engaged to our local vicar and they want to marry next Easter.”

She glanced across at Dalgliesh a little maliciously.

“He is considered a most eligible young man. You seem surprised. Superintendent”

Dalgliesh laughed: “After over twenty years as a policeman I should have learnt not to make superficial judgments. I think I had better see Nurse Goodale first I understand the room you’re making available isn’t ready yet I suppose we could go on using the demonstration room. Or are you likely to be needing it?”

“I would prefer you to see the girls somewhere else if yon would. That room has very unhappy and dramatic memories for them. We’re not even using it yet for teaching demonstrations. Until the small visitors’ room on the first floor is ready I’d be happy for you to interview the students here.”

Dalgliesh thanked her. He replaced his coffee cup on the table. She hesitated, then said:

“Mr. Dalgliesh, there’s one thing I want to say. I feel-I am-in loco parentis to my students. If ever any question… if you should begin to suspect that any one of them is involved, I can rely on you to let me know? They would then need protection. There would surely be the question of getting a solicitor.” She hesitated again:

“Please forgive me if I’m being offensive. One has so little experience in these matters. It’s just that I shouldn’t like them…”

To be trapped?“

To be rushed into saying things which might quite wrongly incriminate them or other members of the staff.“

Dalgliesh found himself unreasonably irritated.

“There are rules laid down, you know,” he said.

“Oh, rules! I know there are rules. But I’m sure you are both too experienced and too intelligent to let them hinder you over much. I’m just reminding you that these girls are less intelligent and in such matters not experienced at all.”

Fighting his irritation, Dalgliesh said formally:

“I can only tell you that the rules are there and that it’s in our interests to keep them. Can’t you imagine what a gift to the defending counsel any infringement would be? A young unprotected girl, a student nurse, bullied by a senior police officer with years of experience in trapping the unwary. Enough difficulties are placed in the path of the police in this country; we don’t voluntarily add to them.”

She flushed and he was interested to see the wave of color sweep from her neck over the pale honey glowing skin making her look momentarily as if the veins ran with fire. Then, instantaneously, it passed. The change was so sudden that he couldn’t be sure that he had actually seen that tell-tale metamorphosis. She said composedly:

“We both have our responsibilities. We must hope that they don’t conflict In the meantime you must expect me to be as concerned with mine as you are with yours. And that brings me to some information which I have to give you. It concerns Christine Dakers, the student who discovered Nurse Fallon’s body.”

She described briefly and succinctly what had happened during her visit to the private ward. Dalgliesh noted with interest that she made no comment, offered no opinion, and attempted no justification of the girl. He didn’t ask her whether she believed the story. She was a highly intelligent woman. She must know that what she had handed him was the first motive. He asked when he would be able to interview Nurse Dakers.

“She’s sleeping now. Dr. Snelling, who is in charge of the nurses’ health, is to see her later this morning. He will then report to me. If he agrees, it should be possible for you to see her this afternoon. And now I’ll send for Nurse Goodale. That is, if there is nothing more I can tell you?”

“I shall need a great deal of information about people’s ages, backgrounds and the time they’ve been at the hospital. Won’t that be on their personal records? It would be helpful if I could have those.”

The Matron thought. Dalgliesh noticed that when she did so her face fell into absolute repose. After a moment she said “All the staff here have personal dossiers, of course. Legally these are the property of the Hospital Management Committee. The Chairman won’t be back from Israel until tomorrow evening but in consult the Vice-Chairman. I imagine that he win ask me to look through the records, and if they contain nothing private which is irrelevant to your inquiry, to pass them over.”

Dalgliesh decided that it would be prudent not to press for the moment the question of who should decide what was irrelevant to his inquiry.

He said: “There are personal questions I shall have to ask, of course. But it would be a great deal more convenient and would save time if I could get the routine information from the records.”

It was strange that her voice could be so agreeable and yet so obstinate.

“I can see that it would be a great deal more convenient; it would also be a check on the truth of what you are told. But the records can only be handed over under the conditions I have just stated.”

So she was confident that the Vice-Chairman would accept and endorse her view of what was right And undoubtedly he would. Here was a formidable woman. Faced with a tricky problem she had given the matter thought, come to a decision and had stated it firmly without apology or wavering. An admirable woman. She would be easy to deal with as long, of course, as all her decisions were as acceptable as this.

He asked if he might use the telephone; recalled Sergeant Masterson from his supervision of the preparation of the small visitor’s room to serve as an office; and prepared himself for the long tedium of the individual interviews.