The murderer had had bad luck, Mrs. Bradley concluded. The flaw in a well-constructed scheme had been the death of the child from the gas instead of death by drowning. The gas was meant to make her unconscious only, not to kill her. It is never possible to determine the exact amount of carbon monoxide which will cause death; and it is not possible to tell, in the case of any particular supply of coal gas, how much carbon monoxide is present in its constitution, she reflected. The murderer had killed the child instead of stupefying her, and could have had no plan to cover the dire emergency.
She climbed the pipe again and worked her way back towards the bathroom window. Just as her hand was reaching over the sill to grasp the edge of the window to pull it open, she saw—it was less than a shadow— another hand, from inside, grope towards the sill. She flung herself flat on the leads, as a heavy jar of bath salts, the crystals scattering in every direction, flew clean across her and crashed against the trunk of a small, old tree in the garden down below.
Out from the front door came the four eldest orphans, mouths open, Ethel clutching her chest, Bessie with a shower of oaths, Annie breathless and alarmed, Kitty dancing with excitement. Mrs. Bradley, recognising that they would be her saviours, crawled to the edge and waved to them.
“Stay where you are,” she said. “I’m coming down.”
“Thought you was killed,” said Bessie.
“Who was in the bathroom?” Mrs. Bradley demanded when she joined them in front of the guest-house.
“Why, nobody, madam,” they said.
“Let’s go and look,” said Kitty.
“There won’t be anyone there by this time,” said Mrs. Bradley. “There’s been every chance to get away, with none of you on the look-out.”
“Oh, yes, out the back door, but they couldn’t climb over the wall, I bet,” said Bessie. “What say we run? We might ketch ’em, eh? What say?”
But nobody was in sight, although they all ran round through the gateway and tore as hard as they could towards the school.
“Dear me,” said Mother Francis, when she heard of it. “Surely it was very unsafe, in any case, for you to climb about on the guest-house roof, Mrs. Bradley?”
“Yes, I expect so,” Mrs. Bradley meekly replied.
chapter 23
preparation
“Strong the tall ostrich on the ground;
Strong through the turbulent profound
Shoots Xiphias to his aim.”
christopher smart: A Song to David.
« ^ »
The bishop had been put off. Mrs. Bradley had seen to it. Driven by George to Bermondsey, she had interviewed Father Thomas, caught him up in the car and borne him off to conduct the negotiations which should result in the Bishop’s visit being put off until Thursday, or, at the earliest, Wednesday afternoon. By Wednesday afternoon Ulrica Doyle would be on her way to Southampton.
This being settled, Father Thomas was restored to his presbytery and George drove Mrs. Bradley to Hiversand Bay, where she had booked a room at the hotel. It was the only hotel in the place, modern and fairly comfortable, and at that time of year almost empty. Ulrica Doyle, who had been sent to it under escort earlier in the evening, discovered, to her horror and annoyance, that she and Mrs. Bradley were to share a room, and, what was worse, not a good room, but one on the third floor, one with a window not only not overlooking the sea, but with a sheer long wall underneath it up which no cat or monkey could have climbed.
“Here we shall be undisturbed,” said Mrs. Bradley urbanely, when she arrived. No one but George, the Mother Superior, and the two nuns who had escorted Ulrica, and who were seated, like two black birds, bolt upright on hard bedroom chairs, knew where Mrs. Bradley was staying. George drove the sisters back to the convent, and took the car on to Blacklock Tor and garaged it there as usual.
Ulrica also had been up when Mrs. Bradley came in, and while she was undressing Mrs. Bradley noticed a sharp-toothed band of metal, like an uncomfortable bracelet, clasping her upper left arm.
“What’s that?” she asked, regarding it with the detached scientific interest which she would have displayed for totem worship or a ring worn through the lip or nostril. Ulrica flushed, and answered:
“It’s voluntary penance, that’s all.”
“It will probably fester. And I notice that you are wearing it above the injury which you sustained on your journey to my house at Wandles Parva.”
“I don’t see why I had to be sent to Wandles, and I don’t see why you have brought me here. It can’t be necessary,” said the girl.
“Tell me what happened, Ulrica,” said Mrs. Bradley. She took off her hat and coat, and sat on her own bed, looking towards the girl.
“Nothing happened. At the end of afternoon school Mother Saint Francis sent for me and told me to get my packing done because I should be staying here until Wednesday. It’s quite absurd, and, of course, I’m not going to stay.”
“It’s tiresome for you, I know,”said Mrs. Bradley. This mild reply apparently surprised the girl, and she said no more. As it was past eleven o’clock, Mrs. Bradley switched off the light as an encouragement to Ulrica to sleep. She herself did not propose to sleep. She listened to every sound, and strained her eyes for shadows, the approach of death.
Morning came, however, after a night of peace, and Mrs. Bradley was out of the bedroom and seated in the lounge of the hotel, by the time that Ulrica awoke. The girl dressed, and came quietly into the lounge. Nobody else was there. She crossed to Mrs. Bradley’s side, and said a little nervously, “I suppose I may go for a walk before breakfast?”
“Yes, if I come with you. You can’t go out alone.”
“But it’s silly, and I won’t have it.” She stared at Mrs. Bradley as though she were trying to fathom what was going on in her mind. Then, after a hasty glance over her shoulder to make sure that nobody else was there, she said: “I believe you think I did it.”
“Do you?”
“I suppose it isn’t the slightest use to tell you that I loved Ursula, and that I would sooner have died than have any harm befall her?”
“Not the least use. I shouldn’t believe you on either count,” said Mrs. Bradley cheerfully.
“But I was giving up my spare time to helping her with her Latin! You remember you asked me about it. And I was—”
“Be quiet,” said Mrs. Bradley. “If you want to go for a walk I am ready to go.”
So they walked together along the rough, new promenade, and the wind blew strongly in their faces from the west. Ulrica had no idea that a car containing George and Ferdinand cruised past them several times along the new marine drive which ended—for they walked as far—on the moor in a smuggler’s mule-track.
Breakfast was eaten in silence. Mrs. Bradley had a newspaper, and hid behind it without doing very much reading. Her son was breakfasting at a table in an alcove near by, but no sign passed between them. Ulrica ate dry toast and drank sugarless coffee.
“I do wish, please,” she said, quite timidly, at last, “that you’d let me go back to school. If you can’t, will you drive me into Kelsorrow? There is a church there where I can pray.”
“School, then,” said Mrs. Bradley, “but you’ll have to come back here for the night, and you will go from here to Southampton on Wednesday morning.”
It suited her own plans that they should return to the school. Her son sat beside George, but got off before they reached the convent gates, and thanked Mrs. Bradley for the lift as though they had been chance acquaintances. If Ulrica recognised him she made no sign. He walked downhill towards the village. As soon as George had set down his other passengers he drove off at good speed over the bumpy road in the direction from which they had come. He did not stay in Hiversand Bay, however, but drove through it, turned south-east, and arrived in Kelsorrow just after half-past ten. He pulled up outside the High School and rang the bell.