The Murder of Busy Lizzie

chapter eight

The Usual Routine

‘Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season;

But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do, that want reason:

Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason.’

Thomas Campion

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Sebastian accompanied the agitated bird-watcher to the lighthouse and Margaret followed. Unlike the first of the disused towers which they had seen on a previous excursion, this one, midway along the turbulent Atlantic coast, was accessible to visitors, a fact explained by the guide as they climbed the steps to the lamp-room and the gallery.

‘We got permission to use it as a lookout,’ he said. ‘Our society, you know. Here, take my binoculars and have a look. Out there, between two rocks. What do you make that out to be?’

Sebastian, with a nod to a middle-aged, trousered woman who had turned from the gallery rail at their approach, trained the very powerful binoculars towards black and green rocks against and over which a spiteful sea boiled and fretted.

‘Difficult to be sure,’ he said, ‘but it does look like a person. The coastguards are the people to deal with this. They’ll get a boat round there and look into things.’

‘May I see?’ asked Margaret. She took the glasses and gazed long at the heaving object which the rollers were flinging about in a cloud of spume and fury. ‘It is somebody. It’s a woman. I think …’ she handed the binoculars to their owner. ‘I think it might be Aunt Eliza.’

‘Good Lord! Whatever makes you say that?’ exclaimed Sebastian, appalled. ‘You’ve nothing whatever to go on!’

‘Only the fact that Aunt Eliza is unaccountably missing,’ said his sister composedly. ‘Will you go for the coastguards or shall I?’

‘Oh, but there aren’t any coastguards on Great Skua,’ said the woman.

‘Well, we’d better let Farmer Cranby know,’ interrupted her husband. ‘He’ll arrange for something to be done.’

‘Cranby? All right, we’ll go,’ said Sebastian. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on things. We’ll get there quicker than you will.’

Before the two bird-watchers could argue about the matter, he seized his sister by the elbow and drew her towards the stairs, and in a minute or two they were running towards the farm.

‘Why didn’t you let that man go?’ asked Margaret, as they reached Ransome’s cottage and saw him at the bottom of his garden.

‘What I said. We’re quicker. Besides, we don’t want to get mixed up in anything if it is Aunt Eliza. Not that you’ve any proof.’ He halted at the gate and called out to Ransome, who leisurely put down the saw he had been using and strolled towards them.

‘Anything up?’ he asked.

‘There’s a body in the sea. Looks like a woman. Some birdwatchers spotted her.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Not far from that old lighthouse on the east cliff. We think she’s caught up among the rocks, but you can’t see much because the rocks partly hide her.’

‘All right, I’ll get some of the men. It will have to be Dimbleton’s boat. Must be one of the visitors done something foolish, I reckon. Dangerous they are, the currents round and about, but it’s no good telling people. They all think they know, better than we do, where it’s safe to bathe, and all that.’

‘It isn’t a bather. This woman is fully dressed. We’re afraid it’s Aunt Eliza,’ blurted out Margaret.

‘My mam? Oh, no!’ Ransome vaulted the gate and ran towards the farmhouse. Sebastian said:

‘Well, we’ve done what we can. Better get back to the hotel. If, by any chance, it is Aunt Eliza, father may like to have us there when the news is brought to him.’

It took time and skill to rescue the body from the rocks and get it on board the boat and back to the only landing-stage. The word had gone round and those who had watched the operation from the lighthouse gallery and the top of the cliffs raced along to the jetty to see the dead woman brought ashore. All that there was to satisfy their morbid curiosity, however, was wrapped in a tarpaulin. The cart used for the transport of luggage to the hotel had been requisitioned and the patient nag between the shafts pulled all that remained of the woman up the steeply-mounting road to the hotel.

Here the cortège was met at the entrance by Miss Crimp, who, somewhat hysterically, refused to give the body house-room.

‘I have my guests to consider,’ she said. ‘I can’t possibly have it in the hotel!’

‘But, ma’am, we’re pretty sure as it’s Mrs Chayleigh, what belong here,’ protested the boatman Dimbleton. ‘Fair knocked about, she be, but not much doubt in any of our minds.’

‘I can’t have her brought into the hotel, I tell you. You must get a doctor. He’ll tell you what to do.’

‘If you’d just take a peek at her, ma’am.’

‘Certainly not, until someone in authority orders me to do so. I will enquire whether there is a medical practitioner among my guests, but that is the most I can manage. You men must understand that this is a hotel, not a morgue. My guests are at dinner.’

There was an angry murmur among the fishermen who had assisted Dimbleton, and Miss Crimp, leaving the porter on guard at the door, went into the dining-room and demanded, in a voice shrill with nerves, whether there was a doctor among those present, although she must have known that none of her guests was qualified to answer the call.

‘There is one on the island, at any rate, Miss Crimp,’ said Marius, rising from the table which he was sharing with his children. ‘Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, at the house known, I believe, as Puffins, is a fully-qualified doctor of medicine and will know what to do.’ (His children had not told him of their fears, and he thought only of a bathing fatality).

To Puffins, therefore, trundled the cart with its pitiful and most unlovely burden. The door was opened by the stocky, respectable man who, on the mainland and at her own home, acted as chauffeur and general handyman to Dame Beatrice but, as there was no car on the island, was employed in the house to assist the only other two servants, her cook and her general maid, whom she had sent before her. He surveyed the tarpaulin-covered figure on the cart without enthusiasm.

‘Found drowned,’ said one of the rescuers, ‘but a doctor’s the usual thing in these cases. Dimbleton’s taking his boat across to alert the police and they’ll bring their own surgeon, no doubt, but they won’t get here, most likely, until tomorrow, so would your lady oblige?’

‘Well, you can’t bring a body in here,’ said George, austerely. ‘There’s a shed round the back. Come and help me take the door off so’s we can carry the corpse in there. Who is it?’

‘We don’t know for certain. Fish been and got at it—crabs and such.’

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear! Madam isn’t going to like that much, I’m afraid.’ He led the way round the house and, by the united efforts of himself and the helpers, the body was laid out ready for Dame Beatrice’s informed inspection. It had been badly knocked about by its battering against the rocks, but she directed her chief attention to a deep ragged cut on the back of the scalp.

‘I suppose the police have been sent for?’ she said.

‘So I understand, madam,’ said George, ‘but I am told they may not reach the island until tomorrow.’

‘Just a routine check, or is there a case for them?’ asked Laura, as Dame Beatrice, having thrown a pair of housemaid’s rubber gloves into the dustbin and followed them with the overall she had been wearing, went with her secretary back to the house.

‘It is impossible to say without a complete post-mortem examination and an autopsy. The body has sustained a severe fracture of the skull and other injuries, but it remains to be determined whether these are the result of a murderous attack or the result of a fatal accident. The body is indescribably battered, but that could be from a pounding on the rocks among which, George tells me, it was found, or from a fall from the cliffs, or both. From my necessarily cursory examination, I do not think this was a death from drowning, but the autopsy will settle that. She has certainly been dead for some days, so she cannot be one of the ornithologists, otherwise she might have fallen when climbing the cliffs. That could account for her injuries. I wonder who will identify the body?’

This question soon received an answer. A worried and anxious Marius Lovelaine, accompanied by an unwilling and apprehensive Miss Crimp, presented himself at the house some half-an-hour later and announced his fears that the dead woman might be his sister. He introduced the shrinking Miss Crimp and explained that, as he had not set eyes on his sister for more than twenty years, he had thought it wise to bring along someone who had been in close touch with her much more recently. Miss Crimp murmured wretchedly that she was perfectly certain the body could not be that of poor dear Eliza, and the two visitors were conducted to the shed, on the floor and walls of which, for obvious reasons (as there was no possibility of treating the corpse itself) strong household disinfectant had been freely sprinkled.

Marius gave vent to an expression of horror and Miss Crimp complained of faintness and had to be helped outside by Laura, but both agreed that the corpse was that of Eliza Lovelaine, generally known as Eliza Chayleigh.

‘Come into the house and be seated. You must have a restorative,’ said Dame Beatrice briskly. ‘Does either of you wish to tell me what you know about this unfortunate affair?—or would you rather keep your story for the police?’

‘Speaking for myself,’ said Marius, in his precise way, ‘I know next to nothing. I had been estranged from my sister for many years and was greatly surprised and somewhat touched to receive from her, last Easter, an account of her doings and a brochure which described the hotel here, together with a request that my family and I should spend a holiday with her this summer. I was a trifle surprised that she expected us to pay full rates for our accommodation, but I did not know, until I arrived here, that she had a partner, Miss Crimp, to whom, of course, she was partly accountable for the profits accruing from the business. When I learned this, I could see why we could not expect any monetary concessions.’

Having delivered himself of this neat exposition, Marius took a sip of the brandy which had been provided, sat back in his chair and left the field to Miss Crimp. Colour had come back to her cheeks and she seemed eager to give her own version of the story.

‘To begin with,’ she said, ‘it came as the greatest surprise to me that Mr Lovelaine and his son and daughter arrived at the hotel at all. No booking had been made in their name, neither had poor Eliza said anything whatsoever to me about their coming. Fortunately I was able to accommodate them, although in the opinion of Mr Lovelaine, not altogether adequately.’

‘No, no,’ said Marius hastily. ‘Really, you must forget all that. Really you must. I was far from understanding the situation when I complained. Bygones must be bygones, Miss Crimp, especially considering the melancholy nature of our present errand.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ said Miss Crimp, taking an unwise, emotional mouthful of brandy and coughing until tears came to her eyes.

‘Yes, indeed,’ she added, recovering. ‘Besides, it would have been quite all right except for these argumentative birdwatchers. I was over-persuaded by Eliza in that respect. We should at any rate have limited their numbers. If only I had had my way and we had accommodated fewer of them, and charged them the proper rates, we should have lost very little money, and everybody would have been far more comfortable.’

‘Perhaps we should return to the matter in hand. So far as I can tell,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘the body has been dead for several days. Did you not miss your partner long before today? Did it not occur to you to wonder where she was and what had happened to explain her absence?’

‘Well, yes and no to that, Dame Beatrice. I mean, I knew she had gone across to the mainland to order extra stores because of these naturalists, but I had certainly become perturbed at her continued absence. I was even uncharitable enough to think that she was delaying her return on purpose, leaving me to cope with this unwonted influx of visitors.’

‘Would that be like her? Was she a selfish, inconsiderate woman?’

‘Well, one doesn’t speak ill of the dead, but I must admit that Eliza could be very arbitrary and difficult at times.’

‘When did she leave the island for the mainland?’

‘Today fortnight.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Marius. ‘A week before our arrival? I hardly realised she had been gone so long!’

‘Oh, I knew she would be gone for several days, Mr Lovelaine. When she had placed her orders she was going on to London. I think I remember telling you so. She said she needed a break before we had to cope with this invasion of ornithologists. I was rather angry about it, but there was nothing I could do. Eliza could be very wilful and demanding and would listen to nobody once she got an idea into her head.’

‘Well, Dame Beatrice,’ said Marius, rising, ‘we must not trespass upon your time and kindness any longer. Is it possible for the… er… for the body to remain where it is?’

‘Oh, no! Oh, no!’ exclaimed Miss Crimp. ‘Eliza’s place is in her own home! I would never have had her brought here had I known whose body it was.’

‘You must do as you wish,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘My shed is at your disposal and that of the police and their surgeon, of course, but if you desire to take the body to the hotel I can offer no argument against such a course except that, in its present condition, the… corpse…’

‘Missing since yesterday fortnight?’ said Detective-Inspector Rendall when interviewing Miss Crimp the following day. ‘When did you begin making enquiries about her, then?’

‘But she hasn’t been missing since yesterday two weeks,’ protested Miss Crimp. ‘She crossed to the mainland to order a large quantity of stores. That could have taken her two or three days. Then she was going up to London for a little change. That could have taken her perhaps another two days — even longer, if she decided to extend her stay. I was not in the least worried about her, Inspector.’

‘But you say she knew you were expecting all these extra visitors.’

‘Oh, yes, of course she knew.’

‘She knew the exact date when they were due?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, weren’t you worried when she didn’t turn up to help you cope with them?’

‘Not worried, Inspector, no. I was rather put out — cross with her, you know — but it never occurred to me to be worried. Eliza—Mrs Chayleigh, as she was known—was a very capable and self-sufficient person. One would never think of anything happening to her.’

‘Did you actually see her board the mainland boat?’

‘Of course I didn’t. We could not both be spared from the hotel at the same time. I did not even see her set out. I was superintending turning out the upstair rooms. With all these naturalists coming, it was impossible to leave all the arrangements to the last minute. There were all sorts of things to be worked out and settled.’

‘But you did take it for granted that she had caught the boat?’

‘Why, of course I did! Why should she not? Besides, she was not in to lunch, tea or dinner. Of course I assumed she had caught the boat.’

‘Do you know of any other persons who were to catch the boat that day?’

‘Oh, yes, several of our visitors checked out that morning.’

‘You had better let me have a list of their names and addresses. They will be able to establish whether Mrs Chayleigh was on the boat or not.’

‘Of course she was on it,’ reiterated Miss Crimp. She produced ledgers. ‘Do you wish to write the names down, or shall I?’

‘Perhaps we can save you the trouble, madam, if you will just show the sergeant how you keep the arrivals and departures columns.’

‘Oh, well, our system is very simple. Here is the register where the guests sign their names with the date of arrival, and here is our commonplace book in which we record bookings and length of stay. This other ledger shows payments, including any extras.’

‘Ah, yes, money. Did Mrs Chayleigh plan to take much with her? You say she proposed to lay in stores and also to spend some time in London.’

‘She would not need money for the stores. They would be invoiced to us and we should pay for them by cheque.’

‘Were the stores Mrs Chayleigh was supposed to order — I mean, did they turn up all right?’

‘No, Inspector, they did not. I blamed poor Eliza very much for that. Fortunately we keep plenty of things in stock, so nobody went short of food or anything else. Still, I could not have managed for many more days, with all those ornithologists flocking in.’

‘Well, madam, you might check with your wholesalers on the mainland, if you will, but, given your evidence and all the circumstances, it seems impossible that Mrs Chayleigh can have boarded the boat that Wednesday and crossed to the mainland at all.’

‘Then what can have happened, Inspector? Nobody on the island would do Eliza an injury. She was very well thought of on Great Skua.’

‘I am not suggesting that she was set upon, madam, although strange things have happened in the most law-abiding communities. So far as the police-surgeon is concerned, her injuries could have been caused by an accidental fall from the cliffs or, of course, suicide by the same means.’

‘Suicide, if you had known Eliza, is out of the question, Inspector.’

‘Ah, well, lots of people think that, when they are acquainted with the deceased, madam. We have to bring an open mind to the question. All the same, these cliffs are noted for being very dangerous in windy weather, I believe.’

‘Oh, poor Eliza! But I’m sure she would never have ventured so near the edge as to be blown over into the sea and get herself drowned.’

‘One never knows what foolish capers people will get up to, madam.’

‘Oh, but Eliza wasn’t foolish, Inspector. She was a busy and sensible woman. Her death has been a grievous shock to me.’

‘You understand that there will have to be an inquest, don’t you?’

‘Oh, well, yes, but where can it be held? There is nowhere on the island.’

‘Furthermore, in view of the nature of some of the injuries, it will be necessary to have an autopsy.’

‘You mean you will cut poor Eliza up?’

‘We shall try to dispose of any doubts as to how she met her death.’

‘But surely she was drowned? Dame Beatrice thought not, but she was picked up out of the water.’

‘Well, the post-mortem will decide it. Her injuries are very severe.’

‘Shall I need to appear at the inquest?’

‘Possibly, but a great deal will depend on the medical evidence. I’m afraid the proceedings will have to be carried out on the mainland. As you point out, there are no facilities here.’

‘But if I am needed over there, what is going to happen to the hotel?’

‘I expect your head-waiter or someone can cope for a couple of days. I’m afraid you’ll just have to find some way of managing, won’t you?’

The police had chartered their own launch and the two plain-clothes men who had been left in charge of it took Eliza’s body back with them. Miss Crimp begged Marius to come into her office for a conference.

‘A conference?’ said Marius. ‘With what object, Miss Crimp?’

‘I feel there are matters we ought to discuss.’

‘What matters?’

‘Well, there is poor Eliza’s will. With this happening so suddenly, I want to know where I stand.’

‘It seems rather early for that thought, does it not? It is customary to wait until after the funeral, I believe.’

‘There’s a reason,’ said Miss Crimp. ‘I don’t think the police believe that Eliza ever intended to leave the island.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘The inspector looked at me in the most suspicious way. I’m sure he thinks I’ve told lies. And what do they want with cutting up my poor friend?’

‘They will want to establish, as far as possible, exactly when she died, and how death was caused. There are signs, you know. The body tells its own tale.’

‘What signs? What tale?’ Miss Crimp asked in agitated tones.

‘Well, I am a doctor of philosophy, not of medicine, so I can scarcely tell you. And I do not know how much difference it makes that the body has been in the sea. But the police have their routine. It is of no use for us to worry.’

‘And do you worry, Father?’ asked Margaret, later.

‘No, that is not the right word. I am deeply perturbed and sad, but worry does not enter into it. It is something of a comfort, in fact, that your poor aunt must have been dead before we ever set foot on the island.’

‘Why do you put it like that, Father?’

‘Well, my dear, her death appears to be somewhat of a mystery and, not to boggle at the truth, I believe I have certain expectations over and above those which are known to the rest of you.’

‘Oh, but, Father, nobody would ever suspect you—’

‘Of course not! Of course not! All the same, I am glad there can be no possible reason for doing so.’