清洁女工之死19

Nineteen

“Now just you listen to me,” said Mrs. Sweetiman.

Edna sniffed¹. She had been listening to Mrs. Sweetiman for some time. It had been a hopelessconversation, going round in circles. Mrs. Sweetiman had said the same thing several times,varying the phraseology a little, but even that not much. Edna had sniffed and occasionallyblubbered and had reiterated² her own two contributions to the discussion: first, that she couldn’tever! Second, that Dad would skin her alive, he would.

“That’s as may be,” said Mrs. Sweetiman, “but murder’s murder, and what you saw you saw,and you can’t get away from it.”

Edna sniffed.

“And what you did ought to do—”

Mrs. Sweetiman broke off and attended to Mrs. Wetherby, who had come in for some knittingpins and another ounce of wool.

“Haven’t seen you about for some time, ma’am,” said Mrs. Sweetiman brightly.

“No, I’ve been very far from well lately,” said Mrs. Wetherby. “My heart, you know.” Shesighed deeply. “I have to lie up a great deal.”

“I heard as you’ve got some help at last,” said Mrs. Sweetiman. “You’ll want dark needlesfor this light wool.”

“Yes. Quite capable as far as she goes, and cooks not at all badly. But her manners! And herappearance! Dyed hair and the most unsuitable tight jumpers.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Sweetiman. “Girls aren’t trained proper to service nowadays. My mother, shestarted at thirteen and she got up at a quarter to five every morning. Head housemaid she waswhen she finished, and three maids under her. And she trained them proper, too. But there’s noneof that nowadays—girls aren’t trained nowadays, they’re just educated, like Edna.”

Both women looked at Edna, who leant against the post office counter, sniffing³ and sucking apeppermint, and looking particularly vacant. As an example of education, she hardly did theeducational system credit.

“Terrible about Mrs. Upward, wasn’t it?” continued Mrs. Sweetiman conversationally⁴, asMrs. Wetherby sorted through various coloured needles.

“Dreadful,” said Mrs. Wetherby. “They hardly dared tell me. And when they did, I had themost frightful⁵ palpitations. I’m so sensitive.”

“Shock to all of us, it was,” said Mrs. Sweetiman. “As for young Mr. Upward, he took onsomething terrible. Had her hands full with him, the authoress lady did, until the doctor came andgave him a seddytiff or something. He’s gone up to Long Meadows now as a paying guest, felt hecouldn’t stay in the cottage—and I don’t know as I blame him. Janet Groom⁶, she’s gone home toher niece and the police have got the key. The lady what writes the murder books has gone back toLondon, but she’ll come down for the inquest.”

Mrs. Sweetiman imparted all this information with relish⁷. She prided herself on being well-informed. Mrs. Wetherby, whose desire for knitting needles had perhaps been prompted by adesire to know what was going on, paid for her purchase.

“It’s most upsetting,” she said. “It makes the whole village so dangerous. There must be amaniac about. When I think that my own dear daughter was out that night, that she herself mighthave been attacked, perhaps killed.” Mrs. Wetherby closed both eyes and swayed on her feet. Mrs.

Sweetiman watched her with interest, but without alarm. Mrs. Wetherby opened her eyes again,and said with dignity:

“This place should be patrolled. No young people should go about after dark. And all doorsshould be locked and bolted. You know that up at Long Meadows, Mrs. Summerhayes never locksany of her doors. Not even at night. She leaves the back door and the drawing room window openso that the dogs and cats can get in and out. I myself consider that is absolute madness, but shesays they’ve always done it and that if burglars want to get in, they always can.”

“Reckon there wouldn’t be much for a burglar to take up at Long Meadows,” said Mrs.

Sweetiman.

Mrs. Wetherby shook her head sadly and departed with her purchase.

Mrs. Sweetiman and Edna resumed their argument.

“It’s no good your setting yourself up to know best,” said Mrs. Sweetiman. “Right’s right andmurder’s murder. Tell the truth and shame the devil. That’s what I say.”

“Dad would skin me alive, he would, for sure,” said Edna.

“I’d talk to your Dad,” said Mrs. Sweetiman.

“I couldn’t ever,” said Edna.

“Mrs. Upward’s dead,” said Mrs. Sweetiman. “And you saw something the police don’tknow about. You’re employed in the post office, aren’t you? You’re a Government servant.

You’ve got to do your duty. You’ve got to go along to Bert Hayling—”

Edna’s sobs⁸ burst out anew.

“Not to Bert, I couldn’t. However could I go to Bert? It’d be all over the place.”

Mrs. Sweetiman said rather hesitantly:

“There’s that foreign gentleman—”

“Not a foreigner, I couldn’t. Not a foreigner.”

“No, maybe you’re right there.”

A car drew up outside the post office with a squealing¹⁰ of brakes.

Mrs. Sweetiman’s face lit up.

“That’s Major Summerhayes, that is. You tell it all to him and he’ll advise you what to do.”

“I couldn’t ever,” said Edna, but with less conviction.

Johnnie Summerhayes came into the post office, staggering under the burden of threecardboard boxes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Sweetiman,” he said cheerfully. “Hope these aren’t overweight?”

Mrs. Sweetiman attended to the parcels in her official capacity. As Summerhayes was lickingthe stamps, she spoke¹¹.

“Excuse me, sir, I’d like your advice about something.”

“Yes, Mrs. Sweetiman?”

“Seeing as you belong here, sir, and will know best what to do.”

Summerhayes nodded. He was always curiously¹² touched by the lingering feudal¹³ spirit ofEnglish villages. The villagers knew little of him personally, but because his father and hisgrandfather and many great-great-grandfathers had lived at Long Meadows, they regarded it asnatural that he should advise and direct them when asked so to do.

“It’s about Edna here,” said Mrs. Sweetiman.

Edna sniffed.

Johnnie Summerhayes looked at Edna doubtfully. Never, he thought, had he seen a moreunprepossessing girl. Exactly like a skinned rabbit. Seemed half-witted too. Surely she couldn’t bein what was known officially as “trouble.” But no, Mrs. Sweetiman would not have come to himfor advice in that case.

“Well,” he said kindly¹⁴, “what’s the difficulty?”

“It’s about the murder, sir. The night of the murder. Edna saw something.”

Johnnie Summerhayes transferred his quick dark gaze from Edna to Mrs. Sweetiman andback again to Edna.

“What did you see, Edna?” he said.

Edna began to sob⁹. Mrs. Sweetiman took over.

“Of course we’ve been hearing this and that. Some’s rumour¹⁵ and some’s true. But it’s saiddefinite as that there were a lady there that night who drank coffee with Mrs. Upward. That’s so,isn’t it, sir?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“I know as that’s true, because we had it from Bert Hayling.”

Albert Hayling was the local constable¹⁶ whom Summerhayes knew well. A slow-speakingman with a sense of his own importance.

“I see,” said Summerhayes.

“But they don’t know, do they, who the lady is? Well, Edna here saw her.”

Johnnie Summerhayes looked at Edna. He pursed his lips as though to whistle.

“You saw her, did you, Edna? Going in—or coming out?”

“Going in,” said Edna. A faint sense of importance loosened her tongue. “Across the road Iwas, under the trees. Just by the turn of the lane where it’s dark. I saw her. She went in at the gateand up to the door and she stood there a bit, and then—and then she went in.”

Johnnie Summerhayes’ brow cleared.

“That’s all right,” he said. “It was Miss Henderson. The police know all about that. She wentand told them.”

Edna shook her head.

“It wasn’t Miss Henderson,” she said.

“It wasn’t—then who was it?”

“I dunno. I didn’t see her face. Had her back to me, she had, going up the path and standingthere. But it wasn’t Miss Henderson.”

“But how do you know it wasn’t Miss Henderson if you didn’t see her face?”

“Because she had fair hair. Miss Henderson’s is dark.”

Johnnie Summerhayes looked disbelieving.

“It was a very dark night. You’d hardly be able to see the colour of anyone’s hair.”

“But I did, though. That light was on over the porch. Left like that, it was, because Mr. Robinand the detective lady had gone out together to the theatre. And she was standing¹⁷ right under it. Adark coat she had on, and no hat, and her hair was shining fair as could be. I saw it.”

Johnnie gave a slow whistle. His eyes were serious now.

“What time was it?” he asked.

Edna sniffed.

“I don’t rightly know.”

“You know about what time,” said Mrs. Sweetiman.

“It wasn’t nine o’clock. I’d have heard the church. And it was after half past eight.”

“Between half past eight and nine. How long did she stop?”

“I dunno, sir. Because I didn’t wait no longer. And I didn’t hear nothing. No groans¹⁸ or criesor nothing like that.”

Edna sounded slightly aggrieved¹⁹.

But there would have been no groans and no cries. Johnnie Summerhayes knew that. He saidgravely:

“Well, there’s only one thing to be done. The police have got to hear about this.”

Edna burst into long sniffling sobs.

“Dad’ll skin me alive,” she whimpered. “He will, for sure.”

She cast an imploring²⁰ look at Mrs. Sweetiman and bolted into the back room. Mrs.

Sweetiman took over with competence²¹.

“It’s like this, sir,” she said in answer to Summerhayes’ inquiring glance. “Edna’s beenbehaving very foolish like. Very strict her Dad is, maybe a bit over strict, but it’s hard to saywhat’s best nowadays. There’s a nice young fellow over to Cullavon and he and Edna have beengoing together nice and steady, and her Dad was quite pleased about it, but Reg he’s on the slowside, and you know what girls are. Edna’s taken up lately with Charlie Masters.”

“Masters? One of Farmer Cole’s men, isn’t he?”

“That’s right, sir. Farm labourer. And a married man with two children. Always after thegirls, he is, and a bad fellow in every way. Edna hasn’t got any sense, and her Dad, he put a stop toit. Quite right. So, you see, Edna was going into Cullavon that night to go to the pictures with Reg—at least that’s what she told her Dad. But really she went out to meet this Masters. Waited forhim, she did, at the turn of the lane where it seems they used to meet. Well, he didn’t come.

Maybe his wife kept him at home, or maybe he’s after another girl, but there it is. Edna waited butat last she gave up. But it’s awkward for her, as you can see, explaining what she was doing there,when she ought to have taken the bus into Cullavon.”

Johnnie Summerhayes nodded. Suppressing an irrelevant²² feeling of wonder that theunprepossessing Edna could have sufficient sex appeal to attract the attention of two men, he dealtwith the practical aspect of the situation.

“She doesn’t want to go to Bert Hayling about it,” he said with quick comprehension.

“That’s right, sir.”

Summerhayes reflected rapidly.

“I’m afraid the police have got to know,” he said gently.

“That’s what I told her, sir,” said Mrs. Sweetiman.

“But they will probably be quite tactful about—er—the circumstances. Possibly she mayn’thave to give evidence. And what she tells them, they’ll keep to themselves. I could ring up Spenceand ask him to come over here—no, better still, I’ll take young Edna into Kilchester with me inmy car. If she goes to the police station there, nobody here need know anything about it. I’ll justring them up first and warn them we’re coming.”

And so, after a brief telephone call, the sniffing Edna, buttoned firmly into her coat andencouraged by a pat on the back from Mrs. Sweetiman, stepped into the station wagon²³ and wasdriven rapidly away in the direction of Kilchester.

 

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