Barnaby watched Barbara Lessiter leave on the arm of her husband. She had sat, apparently placid, through the whole proceedings, but he had noticed her hands moving. He walked now to the end of the row which held her seat and looked along the floor. Just in front of her chair was a little pyramid of shredded tissues. He remembered the letter which she had so quickly thrust out of sight the other morning, and regretted the veil. He would have liked to have seen the expression on her face when the verdict had been announced.
Almost everyone had now gone. But on a bench, some distance away, a solitary figure sat bowed, head low. He crossed the space and sat down.
‘Miss Bellringer ... ?’ She looked at him. Her skin was ashen, her fine eyes dull. ‘Are you all right?’ When she did not reply he said quietly, ‘Surely you understood where our investigations were leading?’
‘Of course ... that is ... I suppose I did.’ Her ebullience was quite gone. She looked very old. ‘But I hadn’t put it into words to myself. Why is it so much worse now that it’s been put into words?’ She looked at him inquiringly as if he would know. There was a long pause.
Barnaby said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Such wickedness.’ A flash of anger raked her face and left a spark in her eyes. ‘After a lifetime of caring for other people. She was a wonderful teacher, you know. Better than I’ve ever been. And of course she knew them, whoever it was. That’s the terrible thing. She must have welcomed them in.’ Silently Barnaby agreed. ‘Well, they must be caught,’ she continued, her voice strengthening by the minute. ‘Right - what are your instructions, Chief Inspector? What shall I do next?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid. We—’
‘Oh but I must do something. I can talk to people, can’t I? Find out if anyone noticed anything, anything at all on the day she died. And what about this mysterious Annabella? Perhaps I can discover who she is.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Bellringer—’
‘But I’ve got to help. Surely, Chief Inspector, you can see why?’
‘Of course I understand your—’
‘Poirot,’ she interrupted wistfully, ‘had his Hastings, you know.’
‘And I, Miss Bellringer, have all the resources of a modern police force at my disposal. It’s a different world.’
‘They can’t be everywhere at once. And in any case I’m sure’ - she laid a gloved hand on his arm - ‘they can’t all be as intelligent as you.’
‘Please be sensible,’ said Barnaby, resisting as well as he could such blatant flattery. ‘I’m sure your friend would not wish to put your life at risk.’
She removed her hand. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘In a community as small as Badger’s Drift everyone will know what you’re about. Someone who has killed once and who thinks he can protect himself by killing a second time will not hesitate to do so. And don’t forget’ - he turned and they walked together towards the exit - ‘that if Miss Simpson knew the murderer very well, so do you.’
Chapter Two
It was nine o’clock that same evening. Phyllis Cadell stood by the chiffonier in the larger of the two sitting rooms at Tye House. She stood stock still, listening. She had gobbled her pudding so quickly she thought the other two might notice but, as was sickeningly usual, they paid close and affectionate attention only to each other.
She stared at the half-open door. Katherine was safely in the kitchen stacking the plates in the dishwasher. Henry would inevitably be nearby, gazing with fatuous admiration at this difficult accomplishment. Quickly Phyllis unstoppered the heavy cut-glass decanter. She picked up a chunky tumbler and half filled it with brandy. There was a clear chink as glass and decanter collided. She glanced at the door again, replaced the stopper and started to drink.
It was wonderful. Fiery and strong. It lagged her misery with warmth like a cosy coat. There had been wine at dinner but what were two bottles of wine between three people? And in any case wine no longer seemed to have any effect. She emptied her glass, eased out the stopper and poured another, splashing a little in her haste.
‘A small one for me too, Phyllis, if you would?’
‘Oh!’ She swung round. Henry was propelling himself across the carpet. ‘Of course ... I’m sorry ... I didn’t hear you.’ She turned her back on him, concealing the nearly full tumbler in her hand. She pushed it behind a plant and took a drink over to her brother-in-law. ‘And one for Katherine?’ she asked, proud of the balance in her voice.
‘I shouldn’t think so. She hardly drinks at all, as you know.’
She doesn’t need to, does she, thought Phyllis savagely. Do you think I’d drink if I had her life? Her looks? Her future? Concealing the glass in her hand she walked over to the window and placed herself behind a tall jardinière. She took another long, deep swallow.
She began to feel better. Then, as the unhappiness receded, her sense of her surroundings became strangely distorted. The velvet pile of the carpet seemed to be alive, rubbing around her feet like a cat; stripes on the curtain raised themselves and went zinging up and down like railway lines. A tumbling spray of stephanotis in the jardinière poured out a rich, sensuous smell, filling her nostrils cruelly. Reminding her of the coming nuptials. If you prick us do we not bleed she thought chaotically.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad at the cottage. At least she’d be out of their way. The place was a good ten minutes’ walk from the main house and they’d hardly be dropping in all the time. They might visit a bit at first, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at her solitude, but that would soon wear off.
The kitchen was quiet now. Katherine would be joining them any minute. Phyllis took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. She blinked very hard, willing herself to see the room as it really was and not as a crudely drawn, unnaturally lively stage set. Then she saw the bride-to-be walking across the yard carrying the wilting flowers from the dining table. Phyllis stared at her through the glass. Perhaps, she thought, there will be no wedding after all. Perhaps Katherine would have an accident - fall into the lake, smash up the Peugeot, walk into the combine harvester. The images in her mind frightened her. No. Katherine was young and strong and would live a long, long time. Probably for ever.
And there might be children. Somewhere deep under the cosy coat a knife turned. She would be useful then. Poor old Aunty Phyllis. Funny Aunty Phyllis. A tear plopped into her empty glass. God, she could do with another drink. She became vaguely aware that Henry was saying something.
‘... and we’re both very worried about you.’
‘...’Bout what, Henry?’
‘Haven’t you been listening?’ She stared at him with intense drunken concentration. ‘About you, of course.’
‘Nothing matter with me.’
He put down his glass and propelled himself over to where she stood. ‘Look - you don’t have to go to the cottage, you know, Phyllis. It was you who suggested it. Kate and I would be happy for you to stay here.’ She made a peculiar sound which could have been a sob or a laugh. ‘In any case we both hope you’ll still spend a lot of time with us. Katherine isn’t used to running a big house, you know. She’ll be grateful for all the help you can give her. As I have always been.’
‘Is that what I’m reduced to then? An unpaid domestic?’
‘Of course not. I simply—’
‘Is that the price I have to pay for my tied cottage? Scrubbing floors.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ She watched his face crease into irritation. Henry hated rows. Bella had always been wonderful at defusing them before they really got a hold. She would have stopped right now. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. What I’ve had to put up with since she came. All the sneering remarks, the little humiliations. She never does it when you’re around.’