"So you do the cooking and help with the nursing of Mr. Maxie. That must be a heavy load. Did you suggest to Mrs.
Maxie that she should employ Miss Jupp?"
"No."
"Do you know who did?"
Martha was silent for several seconds as if wondering whether to chance an indiscretion.
"It may have been Miss Liddell.
Madam may have thought of it herself. I don't know."
"But I presume that Mrs. Maxie talked it over with you before she employed the girl."
"She told me about Sally. It was for
Madam to decide."
Dalgleish began to find this servility irritating but his voice did not change. He had never been known to lose his temper with a witness.
"Had Mrs. Maxie ever employed an unmarried mother before?"
"It would never have been thought of in the old days. All our girls came with excellent references.'' "So that this was a new venture. Do you think it was a success? You had most to do with Miss Jupp. What sort of a girl was she?"
Martha did not reply.
"Were you satisfied with her work?"
"I was satisfied enough. At first, anyway."
"What caused you to change your mind? Was it her late rising?" The heavy lidded, obstinate eyes slewed suddenly from side to side.
"There are worse things than lying abed."
"Such as?"
"She began to get cheeky."
"That must have been trying for you. I wonder what caused Miss Jupp to get cheeky?"
"Girls are like that. They start quietly enough and then begin to act as if they are mistress in the house."
"Suppose Sally Jupp were beginning to think that she might be mistress here one day?"
"Then she was out of her mind."
"But Dr. Maxie did propose marriage to her on Saturday evening."
"I know nothing of that. Dr. Maxie couldn't have married Sally Jupp."
"Someone seems to have made that certain, don't they? Have you any idea who?"
Martha did not reply. There was, indeed, nothing to be said. If Sally Jupp really had been killed for that reason the circle of suspects was not large.
Dalgleish began to take her with tedious thoroughness over the events of Saturday afternoon and evening. There was little she could say about the fete. She had apparently taken no part in it except to walk once round the garden before giving Mr. Maxie his evening meal and making him comfortable for the night. When she returned to the kitchen Sally had evidently given Jimmy his tea and taken him up for his bath because the pram was in the scullery and the child's plate and mug were in the sink. The girl did not appear and Martha had wasted no time in looking for her. The family had waited on themselves at dinner which was a cold meal and Mrs.
Maxie had not rung for her. Afterwards Mrs. Riscoe and Mr. Hearne had come into the kitchen to help wash up. They hadn't asked whether Sally was back. No one had mentioned her. They had talked mostly about the fete. Mr. Hearne had laughed and joked with Mrs. Riscoe while they washed up. He was a very amusing gentleman. They hadn't helped to get the hot drinks ready. That was done later.
The cocoa tin was in a cupboard with the other dry provisions and neither Mrs. Riscoe nor Mr. Hearne had been to the cupboard. She had stayed in the kitchen all the time that they were there.
After they left she turned on the television for half an hour. No, she hadn't worried about Sally. The girl would come in when she felt like it. At about five minutes to ten Martha had put a saucepan of milk to heat slowly at the side of the stove. This was done most nights at Martingale so that she could get early to bed. She had put out the mugs on a tray.
There were large cups and saucers put out for any guest who liked a hot drink at night. Sally knew very well that the blue beaker belonged to Mrs. Riscoe. Everyone at Martingale knew. After seeing to the hot milk Martha had gone to bed. She was in bed before half past ten and had heard nothing unusual all night. In the morning she had gone to wake up Sally and had found the door bolted. She had gone to tell Madam. The rest he knew.
It took over forty minutes to extract this unremarkable information but Dalgleish showed no sign of impatience. Now they came to the actual finding of the body. It was important to discover how far Martha's account agreed with that of Catherine Bowers. If it agreed, then at least one of his tentative theories might prove correct. The account did agree.
Patiently he went on to inquire about the missing Sommeil. But here he was less successful. Martha Bultitaft did not believe that Sally had found any tablets in her master's bed.
"Sally liked to make out that she nursed the master. Maybe she took a turn at nights if Madam was extra tired. But he never liked anyone about him but me. I do all the heavy nursing. If there was anything hidden in the bed I should have found it."
It was the longest speech she had made.
Dalgleish felt that it carried conviction.
Finally he questioned her about the empty cocoa tin. Here, again, she spoke quietly but with unemphatic certainty. She had found the empty tin on the kitchen table when she came down to make the early morning tea. She had burned the inside paper, rinsed the tin and put it in the dustbin. Why had she rinsed it first?
Because Madam disliked sticky or greasy tins being put in the dustbin. The cocoa tin hadn't been greasy, of course, but that didn't signify. All used tins were rinsed at Martingale. And why had she burned the inside wrapper: Well, she couldn't rinse the inside of the tin with the paper lining still there, could she? The tin was empty so she rinsed it out and threw it away. Her tone suggested that no reasonable person could have done otherwise.
For the life of him Dalgleish couldn't see how her story could be effectively countered. His heart sank at the thought of interrogating Mrs. Maxie on the usual method of disposal of the family's used tins. But, once again he suspected that Martha had been coached. He was seeing the beginning of a pattern. The infinite patience of the last hour had been well worthwhile.
Chapter Five
St. Mary's Refuge was about a mile from the main part of the village, an ugly red-brick house with a multiplicity of gables and turrets which was set back from the main road behind a discreet shield of laurel bushes. The gravel drive led to a front door whose worn knocker gleamed with much polishing. The net curtains were snowy white at each of the windows. Shallow stone steps at the side of the house led down to a square lawn where several prams were clustered together. A maid in cap and apron admitted them, probably one of the mothers Dalgleish thought, and showed them into a small room at the left of the hall. She seemed uncertain what to do and could not catch Dalgleish's name although he repeated it twice. Large eyes stared at him uncomprehendingly through the steel-frame spectacles as she hovered miserably in the doorway. "Never mind," said Dalgleish kindly, "just let Miss Liddell know that there are two policemen to see her from Martingale. She'll know all about us."
"Please, I have to take the name. I'm being trained for a house parlourmaid."
She hovered in desperate persistence, torn between fear of Miss Liddell's censure and embarrassment at being in the same room as two strange men, and both of them policemen at that. Dalgleish handed her his card. "Just give her this then. That will be even more proper and correct. And don't worry. You'll make a very nice house parlourmaid. Nowadays they're prized above rubies you know."
"Not saddled with an illegitimate kid, they aren't," said Sergeant Martin as the slight figure disappeared through the door with what might have been a whispered "Thank you."