‘Come on,’ she said, smiling to herself, ‘I’m sure you’ll want to tell Vera all about the house. Let me show you around.’
Alice got up from the settee. ‘Oh, thank you. That would be nice.’
‘We’ll start upstairs.’
Hannah led the way up the carpeted staircase and along the landing. There were five bedrooms on the first floor. Molly occupied one of the attic rooms. Alice was shown those used by the family. They finished in the main bedroom and she was amazed to see that it had an adjoining dressing room bigger than her own bedroom in the family house. Space and luxury were the defining features. The only time Alice had seen anything remotely like it was on a visit with her mother to Harrods when she simply gawped at the display in the bedding department.
Alice felt privileged to be shown around the house. Though it was the sort of place in which she could never aspire to live, she was grateful for the chance of a glimpse into the domain of the wealthy. Since she’d arrived there, she’d been happy and relaxed. The mood changed instantly.
‘You don’t have to go back to those squalid digs, you know,’ said Hannah, casually.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re very welcome to stay the night.’
Alice was all of six feet away from the other woman but she suddenly felt threatened. It was a disturbing sensation. Something was happening that was outside her experience and over which she had no control. It unsettled her. She’d arrived there as a guest but had the sense that she was now being wooed. Biting her lip, she did her best to hide her embarrassment.
‘I think I’d like to go now, if you don’t mind,’ she said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The telephone call from the hospital prompted Harvey Marmion and Joe Keedy to leave Scotland Yard immediately. News had come that the patient had finally regained consciousness and was able to talk to a certain degree. On the drive there, Marmion schooled the sergeant not to expect too much.
‘This could be a wasted journey,’ he warned. ‘I doubt if he remembers anything at all about being knocked unconscious.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that, Harv. I was once knocked out while policing a riot, but, to this day, I can’t recall the moment someone hit me from behind with a scaffolding pole. All I remember is waking up with a splitting headache.’
‘The superintendent has ridiculously high hopes. He seems to think that Father Howells will be able to identify his attacker then provide enough information to unravel the murder for us as well.’
‘If only it was that easy,’ said Keedy with a hollow laugh. ‘When it comes to solving a crime, Chat is always looking for shortcuts. The only way to sort out these two cases is by hard work and patience.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘It was a sage by the name of Inspector Marmion.’
‘I didn’t realise that you actually listened to me.’
Keedy put a hand to his heart. ‘I treasure every word of wisdom.’
Marmion chuckled. ‘Our first call is at the hospital,’ he said. ‘We can then go on to speak to Eric Fussell. I’ll be most interested to hear what he was doing there when he claimed that he wasn’t a particular friend of Father Howells.’
Information about Fussell’s trip to the hospital had come from the detective who’d trailed him there. The librarian had asked after the curate at the reception desk, gone up to his room and been politely turned away. Even though he’d been told that they were there, he’d made no contact with the parents in the adjacent waiting room. Unable to see the patient, he’d left the building and returned to the library. When it had closed, he and his wife had gone home.
‘What do you think they say to each other?’ asked Keedy.
‘Mr and Mrs Fussell?’
‘They don’t look as if they’re in the first, full flush of romance.’
‘Marriage is not a condition of endless bliss, I’m afraid.’
‘What do you say to your wife when you’re alone together?’
‘It’s usually something like “Goodbye and don’t wait up for me.” When duty calls, I never have time for real conversation at home.’
‘Ellen must be very understanding.’
‘She’s a saint, Joe. I can’t say the same about Alice, mind you,’ he went on. ‘She used to complain like mad that I wasn’t at home enough. And she was right, of course. Whatever happens, my daughter will never marry a policeman.’
The remark silenced Keedy for the rest of the journey. He and Alice had never discussed marriage and hadn’t even skirted the subject. But if their friendship continued to deepen, then the question of a serious commitment would arise. He knew that it would be unfair to lock her indefinitely into a relationship that had no resolution. As long as she and Keedy were together, she was spurning male interest from other quarters. It troubled him that he might be spoiling her chances of marriage to someone else but he simply didn’t want to let her go. Once again, he tried to assess his feelings for her. At the same time, he wondered about the strength of Alice’s feelings for him.
When they reached the hospital, they went straight up to the room occupied by Father Howells. The doctor was waiting for them.
‘He’s very tired and not all that coherent,’ he cautioned. ‘I can’t let you question him for long, Inspector. His parents have already been in there with him. When they left, he fell asleep at once.’
‘Has he said anything about the attack?’ asked Marmion.
‘Not a word.’
Leaving Keedy outside, Marmion went into the room with the doctor. The nurse who was bending over the patient stood back so that the inspector could approach the bed. The Reverend James Howells was still swathed in bandages. His face was pallid and his eyes closed. Marmion lowered himself onto the chair beside the bed and leant in to whisper.
‘Father Howells,’ he began. ‘Can you hear me, Father Howells?’
After a lengthy pause, the curate stirred slightly and one eye opened.
‘Who are you?’ he murmured.
‘I’m Inspector Marmion of Scotland Yard and I’m in charge of your case. I’m very anxious to find the person who attacked you.’
‘What person?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me that, sir.’
‘What attack?’
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Yes — I’m in hospital.’
‘Do you know how you got here?’
‘No, Inspector, I don’t.’
‘Has nobody told you?’
‘My father said something to me,’ recalled the curate, dopily, ‘but I’ve forgotten what it was. I have this pain in my head. It’s like a drill.’
‘Someone attacked you and knocked you unconscious.’
‘Why?’
‘We don’t know, sir. Do you have any idea?’
Father Howells drifted off to sleep again and Marmion had to wait minutes before he came awake.
‘Have you ever been threatened?’ asked Marmion.
‘No … I haven’t.’
‘Do you know of any enemies?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Someone must have hated you to do this.’
The curate winced. ‘Who was it?’
‘You’re the only one who can tell me that.’
‘I have no enemies.’
‘We all have people who don’t like us, sir.’
‘I’m a priest,’ said Father Howells, stumbling over his words. ‘I’m a man of God. Who’d want to hurt me?’
Marmion pressed him as gently as he could to think of anyone with whom he’d had a disagreement in the past. The curate was too weary and confused to provide any names. The inspector thought of the man’s address book.