The Case of William Smith

Chapter Thirty-five

Mr. Tattlecombe took it hard. After saying that it was a blow but that he supposed it was the Lord’s will, he ran both hands through his hair, fixed round blue eyes upon William and Katharine, and observed that it didn’t matter, because he was past the three score years and ten already and it wouldn’t be for long. From there to a lonely deathbed, with no one to close his eyes or so much as put up a stone, was an easy short cut.

At just what point in the proceedings it occurred to Katharine that he was enjoying himself, she didn’t quite know, but she found herself holding his hand and saying, ‘Dear Mr. Tattlecombe, please don’t talk like that or I shall cry.’

Abel was distinctly gratified. He sat there as pink and healthy as a baby with his grey hair all fuzzed up and said there was no call to drop a tear, because we must all come to it and there would be nobody left to grieve.

William said firmly, ‘That’s not quite fair, Mr. Tattlecombe. There’s Mrs. Salt, and there’s me, and Mrs. Bastable, and Miss Cole, and Katharine – you know very well we’d all grieve. And now I’d like you to listen to what I’ve been thinking. There’s that friend of Ernie’s, Jim Willis – ’ He proceeded to put forward his plan whilst Abel looked blankly over the top of his head.

When he had finished what he had in mind to say, there was one of those silences. It had prolonged itself to a really dreadful extent before Mr. Tattlecombe broke it with a heavy sigh.

‘Very kind of you, William, and I’ve no doubt he’s a steady, good-living young man – Ernie always did have the right sort of friends – but there’ll be no need for an assistant in the grave.’

‘I wasn’t talking about the grave, I was talking about the shop, and you’re going to need an assistant there. I don’t want you to think I’m going to give up my interest or just walk out and leave you, because I wouldn’t think of it. But you must see for yourself that there’ll be a good deal of business to attend to with Eversleys, and that I’ll have to attend to it personally. Now my idea would be to get Jim to come in as soon as he can, so that I can put him in the way of things.’

By the time they left him the gloom had to some slight extent lifted. There were fewer references to the tomb and to David’s rather gloomy estimate as to the appropriate age for retirement to it. There were even some gleams of interest in Jim Willis, and an early recollection or two of his coming about the house with Ernie. In fact the worst was over.

Just before they went away Katharine said how kind it was of Mrs. Salt to send them a pot of her apple honey.

Abel nodded.

‘She said she was going to. My cousin Sarah Hill sends it to her. I’ve got a pot or two myself. Sarah won’t let on how it’s made, but she lets us have some every year. Abby said something about bringing a pot round here for you tomorrow. That Emily’s all right again, and she’s coming to have tea with me. She said she’d bring it along then and leave it for you. You’ll like it.’

Katharine said, ‘It’s lovely. We had some when we went to tea with her. But we’ve had our pot already – we found it waiting for us when we got back to the flat last night. I was going to ring Mrs. Salt up and thank her, but William said she would rather have a letter, so I’m going to write to her as soon as we get home. It was so very kind.’

Abel wagged his head.

‘She must have taken it round herself,’ he said. ‘But Sunday evening she’d have been in chapel – never misses, wet or dry – ’ He paused, and then added, ‘William’s right about the telephone. It took a long time before she’d have it put in, and she wouldn’t have had done it then if I hadn’t put it to her that one or other of us might be took suddenly, and no chance of a last word if it wasn’t for being able to call up and say so.’

It was half-past twelve before William parked his car in the yard at Eversleys and walked round the building to the front door. The factory stood on the outer edge of the London fringe. It did not seem to have suffered any bomb damage, but even from the outside it had rather a going-down-hill appearance. His previous visit had been paid after dark. He took time now to look about him. The neighbourhood had changed a good deal. The big electrical works opposite was new. Marsdens, which had towered up a couple of hundred yards away, was gone – the site cleared, new foundations rising. Looked as if there had been a direct hit there.

When he had had a look round he went inside. This time he wasn’t going to be put off with seeing Miss Jones. He went up the stairs and into the outer office. A girl looked up from her typing, and he asked,

‘Is Mr. Cyril Eversley in?’

She said, ‘No.’

‘Mr. Brett?’

‘Yes.’

William said, ‘Then I’ll just go through and see him. You needn’t announce me.’

He left her fluttering behind him and went out of the other door and along the passage. Brett’s room used to be at the end. He wondered if he had changed it.

Apparently not. There was his name on the door, like everything else a good deal the worse for wear. He turned the handle and went in. This time there wasn’t going to be any surprise. Cyril would have been on the telephone – possibly Mavis too, but certainly Cyril. The only question was how Brett was going to take it. There was just a moment after he got inside the door, and then it was,

‘William – my dear chap!’ and his hand was being wrung.

Well, that was that, and a considerable relief. He looked at Brett, and found him a little heavier, a little older, but essentially the same. In face, after the first moment, it was difficult to see any change at all. The warmth, the charm, were paramount.

‘My dear chap, I never was so pleased in my life! Cyril got me on the telephone an hour ago – said he’d been trying to get hold of me ever since you turned up yesterday. Well – ’ he laughed with a sound of real enjoyment – ‘I was weekending, and one doesn’t hurry back on Monday morning – at least I don’t. There isn’t all that business to attend to. I wish there were. I’m afraid things aren’t quite what they were when you went away.’

William said, ‘So I gathered from Cyril.’

Brett’s eyebrows rose. The dark eyes under them took on a rueful, laughing expression.

‘We got through the war, but that’s about all you can say.’ The laughter flickered out. ‘Look here, William, it’s no good making any bones about it, we’re in the devil of a mess.

There was a pause before William said,

‘What sort of a mess, Brett?’

Brett Eversley looked him straight in the face and said,

‘Katharine’s money’s gone.’

Katharine, waiting in the flat, picked up the telephone receiver and heard William’s voice sounding rather faint and far away.

‘That you, Kath?’

She said, ‘Yes.’

‘Look here, darling, I can’t possibly get back to lunch. We’re up to the eyes in business… Yes, Brett’s here. I’m speaking from his office. We’re going into things together. Cyril’s still at Evendon. About that appointment with Mr. Hall – I can’t keep it. Brett rang through and caught him before he went out to lunch, so he knows I’m back, and I’ll be seeing him tomorrow.’

‘When will you be home?’

‘I’ll try and make it by five – but don’t wait tea.’

She said, ‘Of course I will. We’ll have apple honey.’

She hung up and went back to the table, which was set for lunch. There was a savoury stew in a casserole keeping hot in the kitchen, but the cold shape was at the far end, and a little cut glass dish of Abigail Salt’s apple honey. Katharine picked it up and put it away in the glass-fronted cupboard. She wasn’t going to start on it without William. She took out the remains of a pot of raspberry jam instead. Then she went to the kitchen to fetch the casserole.

It was well after five before William came home. He looked at the tea-table drawn up in front of the fire, at the whole warm glow of the room, and at Katharine. Then he kissed her. She said,

‘How did you get on, darling?’

‘It’s the real devil of a mess, Kath.’

She said, ‘Well, don’t bother about it now. Have your tea.’

He kept his arm about her.

‘Presently.’ Then after a moment, ‘You know, I think Brett is really glad I’m back.’

‘Was he – nice?’

William gave a sort of half laugh.

‘Perfectly charming. Brett’s got a brain if he’d use it. Cyril hasn’t – at least not the kind that’s any good to himself or anyone else. And I don’t mean that unkindly either. What I do mean is that Brett has got brains enough to see that it would have to be one thing or the other. I’d either got to be William Smith who was trying it on, or he’d got to get busy with the fatted calf and all the trimmings – that was obvious. And he wouldn’t want more than one look at me to see that the William Smith idea wouldn’t wash, so he did the thing handsomely. And of course it was very good business, because they’ve got themselves well on to the wrong side of the law, and Brett doesn’t want to go to prison.’

Katharine said, ‘Oh – ’

‘Your money’s gone, Kath.’

She said ‘Oh – ’ again.

‘It was the old game. They took a bit to pull the firm round, and then took more to bolster it up. They’d got to the point where they’d have been ruined if you married. Brett skated away from that, but of course it’s why he was trying to marry you.’

Katharine’s lip quivered.

‘There couldn’t be any other reason, could there, darling?’

‘Well, you said yourself he wasn’t in love with you,’ said William reasonably. ‘Thank goodness! There are quite enough complications without that. What I really set out to say was that I think Brett would have put up a pretty good show of being glad to see me whether he was or not, because he’s got brains enough to know which side his bread is buttered. But I’ve got a hunch that he really was glad to see me. I don’t think he could put on an act that would take me in.’

Katharine nodded. William always could see through people. He seemed so simple and easy, and in a way he was, but he saw through most brick walls. She said,

‘What are you going to do about them – about Brett and Cyril?’

‘Oh, Cyril can retire. Evendon, if it’ll run to it. He’s no use to the firm. Brett – ’ he grinned suddenly – ‘Brett can turn on the famous charm and go out and get us orders for the Wurzel toys. I’m going large on them, and I think they’ll pull us out of the mess. Gosh, I’m hungry! We had a sandwich lunch. Make the tea while I go and get washed.’

He came back to find Katharine standing at the table with the teapot in her hand. But she wasn’t looking at it, she was looking at something on the other side of the table. He got the impression that she had been looking at it for some time – something about her expression, something fixed. As he came up to her, she put the teapot down and said without any expression at all,

‘There’s a dead fly.’

‘Flies – at this time of year?’

‘There are always some in the Mews – no proper larders, and people are careless. But it’s dead.’

He said, ‘What – ’ and all of a sudden her hand came out and caught at his. The room was warm, but the hand was very cold. She said,

‘There’s another. Wait!’

They both looked at the table. Beyond Carol’s bright green lacquer tray with the teapot, sugar-basin and cups there was a loaf of brown bread, a plate of scones, a seed cake, a dish of butter pats, and the flat cut-glass dish heaped with Abigail Salt’s apple honey. It was a lovely translucent amber colour. There was a dead fly on it. As they stood there looking, a second fly came buzzing and circling down. It settled on the apple honey, plunged its tiny proboscis down on to the jelly, quivered, and rolled over dead.

Katharine’s ice-cold hand stiffened on William’s warm one in a frantic grip. Neither of them spoke. When the telephone bell rang Katharine’s grip loosened. She went to the writing-table, lifted the receiver mechanically. What she heard was Miss Silver’s voice.

‘Mrs. Eversley?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have received a pot of apple preserve from Mrs. Salt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do not on any account partake of it. You have not done so?’

‘No.’

The tension was sufficiently relieved for Miss Silver to cough.

‘I am truly thankful to hear it. May I speak to Mr. William Eversley?’

William took the receiver. He put an arm round Katharine and heard Miss Silver say,

‘There has been a very grave development. I am speaking from Selby Street. We are awaiting the arrival of the police. I think that you and Mrs. Eversley should come here at once. The matter concerns you deeply. Will you bring with you the pot of apple preserve which Mrs. Eversley tells me you have not tasted. It should not be touched with the hand, but replaced in its wrappings in such a manner as not to disturb any possible fingerprints.’

After a moment William said, ‘All right,’ and hung up. He and Katharine stood looking at one another.