Late and Cold (Timothy Herring) Page 7

  “What I mean, sir,” said Mrs. Dewes, “Dewes and me don’t have no objection to children, not as such, and nice little things I don’t doubt these are. What I mean, not cheeky nor rude nor nothing. What I mean, I got nothing again ’em, not as children, I mean.”

  “What the wife means, sir,” said Dewes, “is as she likes to keep the place like what a place as belongs to you gents and ladies of the Society did oughter be kept. But she can’t do it, sir, not if youngsters is going to be permitted the in and out all over the front steps and slidin’ on the polished ’all floor, sir, and scuffin’ their feet on the best staircarpet.”

  Timothy said that he could quite understand, and had been at some pains to point these things out to Miss Jones, who, he was sure, had been thoughtless, not ill-disposed.

  “The other point,” he added, “is this carpentry stunt of yours, Dewes. Is it really necessary to use a hammer in the attic after the children have gone to bed? You couldn’t do the work down here instead, I suppose?”

  “I can’t hardly put down a path o’ boards to the cistern unless I’m up where the cistern is, sir,” said Dewes, aggrieved and righteous. “Not as it’s really my work, sir, as you well know, but done willing, to save the expense, sir.”

  “Do we need a path of boards to the cistern? I thought we had one.”

  “Fifty year old, sir, and got the woodworm something terrible.”

  “Well, couldn’t you see to it in the daytime, then?”

  “I could use me Saturday afternoons, I s’pose, but I reckons to have them orf.”

  “Aren’t there any other afternoons when you could spare the time to do it?”

  “All right, sir, I’ll manage some’ow.”

  “Stout fellow! Kids must have their quota of sleep, you know.”

  “So must we,” said Mrs. Dewes, with sudden asperity. “Three times ’as Dewes ’ad to rouse ’isself out of bed to find what’s goin’ on.”

  “Why, how do you mean, Mrs. Dewes?” This sounded uncomfortably like confirmation of what Marion had told him.

  “Well, sir, of course, it might be rats, and then, again, it might be burglars, or, if you believes in the sperrit world, as some folks do, it might be a ghost, but to the best of our belief, Dewes and mine, sir, it’s nothing more nor less than this Miss Jones a-snoopin’ around the place and, what’s more, throwin’ the furniture about in doin’ so.”

  “Dear, dear! That sounds a bit much. Have you anything really to go on?”

  “Not to say go on, no, sir, exceptin’ the noise, but we has our suspicions, and I don’t think we’re that far out in what we’re thinkin’.”

  “Because you don’t like Miss Jones?”

  “It would be demeanin’ ourself to say we do, sir, speakin’ without prejudice, of course.”

  “Oh, of course. Prejudice would never enter into it. I’m perfectly certain of that. Why don’t you lock up the rooms at night? You’ve got keys to all of them, haven’t you? Anyway, thanks for your co-operation. I’ll speak to Miss Jones. Good night.”

  “Good night, sir.” But they seemed moody and dissatisfied.

  “M.J.M.G.,” said Timothy to the porter when he arrived at his club, where he intended to dine.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Eh? Oh, nothing. I was thinking aloud, that’s all. My room’s all ready, I suppose?” Reassured, he continued to think, although not aloud, while he dressed for dinner. When he was ready, he went down to the club bar, where he encountered the president of Phisbe.

  “Hullo, Tim! Staying in Town for a bit?” enquired the president. “What are you going to have?”

  “These are on me,” said Timothy. “I’ve got to soften you up.”

  “For goodness’ sake, why?”

  “I’ve gone and boobed a bit. You won’t be pleased.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you. Are you letting us in for doing up that ruin of yours in North Wales?”

  “No, not exactly. Are you dining with anybody?”

  “No. Let’s share a table.”

  “Fine. What are you doing in Town?”

  “Drove the wife to her sister’s in Hampstead. They’re going to some concert or other. I’ve opted out and have bespoken a room here for the night. The others will take her back with them, and I’m to pick her up in the morning.”

  “How nice and uncomplicated your life seems to be. Oh, well, anyway, cheers!”

  “Cheers! Look here, let’s collar those chairs over there while we have our drinks, and then you can disclose your guilty secret. After that, we can enjoy our dinner, I hope. Right. Now, fire away.”

  “Well,” said Timothy, “I’ve put myself on the spot, I rather think.”

  “The girl?”

  “What girl? Oh, you mean Marion Jones. Well, yes, in a way that’s right, but not in the way you might be thinking.”

  “I’m glad of that. She’s got three children already, hasn’t she?”

  “She has, indeed. At this present moment she and they are roosting at Phisbe’s headquarters.”

  “The devil they are! What on earth does Coningsby think?”

  “It isn’t really Coningsby who’s the trouble, although he’s got his own angle on the thing. It’s the Dewes I’m worried about.”

  “Oh, look here, Coningsby mustn’t alienate the Dewes! I don’t see how we could replace them.”

  “He isn’t alienating anybody. He’s almost off his rocker, poor chap, because he’s been made a sort of No Man’s Land. He gets sniped over by both the combatants. He’s between Devil Marion and Deep Sea Dewes.”

  “I see what you’re getting at, of course. Didn’t you realise—I pass over the enormity of your offence in wishing your cast-off lodgers on to Phisbe—but didn’t you realise how the respectable Dewes couple would react to the presence of Miss Jones and three little Joneses on the premises?”

  “It would be all right if both parties would behave themselves, but they won’t. Let me get you another drink.”

  “Thank you. After all, it’s about the only way you can expiate your crimes. And now, tell me more. I always thought you had an original approach and an imaginative way of doing things, but this particular effort is a masterpiece. Spare me nothing! We have half an hour before we need go in to dinner. Go on, curdle my blood.”

  Timothy told him everything, condensing the story but omitting nothing of importance.

  “So that’s how it stands,” he said in conclusion. “If she hadn’t got those kids, the whole thing would never have started, but I seem to have set my hand to the plough, and I certainly can’t back out now. My only excuse for getting mixed up in the thing was that the Earls Court set-up had to be experienced to be believed. I intended Phisbe’s third floor to be a temporary measure only, of course, but it’s come apart in my hands rather soon. We can’t have the Dewes upset, as you rightly point out, and poor young Coningsby complains it’s ruining his work. I really don’t see anything for it but to buy the family a house.”

  “I’ve had a letter from Parsons.”

  “Change of subject? Well, perhaps you’re right.”

  “By no means a change of subject. Parsons has been along to have another look at your ruins.”

  “I know he thought, as I did, that something could be done with them, but there’s this snag of Marion’s wanting to live there, you see, and, although I’ve given her this idea that she might have a claim on the whole estate, we can hardly give her squatter’s rights on it, can we? The only plan would be . . .”

  “Yes, I thought of that when I re-read Parsons’s letter. It would solve your problem, too.”

  “But, even if we could get Pembroke Jones and this sister of his to agree to sell us the ruins and the side of the hill they stand on, we’d still have to talk Marion out of giving up her claim, and that’s not going to be easy.”

  “You say she’s got nothing in writing.”

  “She may have had a letter from Jones by now.”

  “A letter wo
uldn’t be binding as a contract, unless she’d taken up her option. We shall just have to see that she doesn’t.”

  “Isn’t that just a bit—well—indecent?”

  “I don’t really think so, you know. After all, how can she lose? Even if she lives long enough to inherit the estate, she’ll never be able to afford to keep it up. She’ll be far better off with the compensation we shall pay her—or, rather, that you will pay her.”

  “Yes, I’d worked that out, too, before I got this bee in my bonnet that Jones was pulling a fast one. If Marion was telling the truth, all she wants is somewhere for herself and the children to live.”

  “You’re not sure that she was telling the truth?”

  “It’s a toss-up between what she told me and the Leonie Bing version, between which there are certain discrepancies.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t see why Marion had to tell me that Miranda is the daughter of an actress friend of hers. Why couldn’t she have said straight out that the baby is Pembroke Jones’s daughter? As for the twins, well, Leonie’s view is the same as that of those odious women in the Earls Court tenement. She claims that they are Marion’s own children. Marion, on the other hand, tells me that they’re her brother’s orphans.”

  “Well, it’s your morass, and you’ll have to get yourself out of it. Meanwhile, the committee meets next Wednesday week, and after we’ve settled the Rieve Abbey controversy, Nanradoc will be our talking point. You’d better polish up your speeches. What about photographs and plans?”

  “Coningsby can go to Nanradoc tomorrow, and I’ll take on his job at headquarters while he’s away. That will kill two birds with one stone. It will give the poor lad a break, and it will enable me to throw a little oil on troubled waters. I shall take a firm line with Marion Jones. She’s got to behave herself, or else . . .”

  “Don’t play the heavy. Keep the girl sweetened. Find out what she really wants. If it is the estate, that’s that, and we had better opt out. Another thing: what about getting the name of Pembroke Jones’s lawyers and putting Burley and Burley in touch with them at once? We’ve got to find out what the legal position is with regard to Nanradoc before we can enter into negotiations. Will you see to it? Incidentally, there’s a funny side to all this. We laid it down at the beginning that Phisbe isn’t an institution for housing the homeless, and that just what you’ve turned us into, blight you!”

  “Mea culpa,” said Timothy. On the following morning he went back to headquarters to see Coningsby. Coningsby was surprised and gratified when he learned of the assignment which had been given him.

  “I’m delighted, sir,” he said. “Of course, I have acted as official photographer and cartographer before, but never quite on my own. I deeply appreciate the honour accorded me. Have you any particular instructions for me to carry out?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Photograph everything in sight and from all angles. I’ve been on the phone to Mr. Parsons, and he or his wife will drive you out to Nanradoc and show you the ruins. After that, it’s up to you. Apart from the photographs, all we shall want is a sketch-plan—just a rough lay-out—showing the relation of the various bits and pieces to one another. Make two copies and give one to Mr. Parsons so that he can make his own drawings, if he wants to, but, of course, it’s the photographs we’re after. Get along home and do your packing. There’s a train at . . .”

  “I have my own little car, sir. I shall enjoy the drive. May I ask when I’m expected to return? I only ask because of the weather. It looks a little like rain, and although, of course, I can photograph the castle when it’s raining, the effect will be less attractive than if I can get it in sunshine.”

  “Oh, we don’t want anything depressing to show the committee. Take a week on the job if it’s necessary. Mr. Parsons is quite prepared to put you up for any length of time. He said so over the telephone.”

  A rejoicing Coningsby skipped blithely down the front steps, and Timothy went off to find Mrs. Dewes. Dewes himself had a part-time job in a garage as a motor mechanic and was responsible to Phisbe only for attending to the central heating and for being on the premises at night. Mrs. Dewes was polishing the furniture in the committee room when Timothy tracked her down.

  “Oh, sir!” she exclaimed, when Timothy walked in. “Would you mind keeping to the carpet? I just finished polishing them boards!”

  “And very nice they look, Mrs. Dewes. But our meeting isn’t until Wednesday week, you know.”

  “It’s just that I like to keep things looking right, sir. That way you can’t be caught out. Adding on to that, sir, I had to polish out footprints.”

  “Footprints? The children haven’t been in here, I hope?”

  “The children, no, sir. Who else, it’s not for me to say, being as I can’t be sure.”

  “I see. What sort of footprints?”

  “Rubber-soled shoes as it might be tennis plimsolls, or something of that nature, sir. That’s why we never heard nothing, I suppose. What’s more, they wasn’t there yesterday. I can be certain of that, sir, because, even if I don’t put polish down every day, for which there is never no need, not every day, sir, I always gives a once-over with the mop, and, if the marks had been there, I’d of noticed.”

  “Yes, of course you would. Mr. Coningsby never wears rubber-soled shoes in the office, I suppose?”

  “Mr. Coningsby wouldn’t never tread on my boards, sir, no matter what ’e might ’ave on ’is feet. Not that ’e’s ever dressed less than a gentleman, sir, as you knows as well as what I do. No, sir, it is not Mr. Coningsby. A nicer and quieter young gentleman never walked.”

  “Well, it’s all a bit odd, Mrs. Dewes, I must admit. It’s not as though there’s anything valuable in the house, so I can’t see why anybody should want to get in, except members of the Society, and they would hardly snoop about at night. Do you suspect Miss Jones of walking about at night?”

  “Dewes and me might be wrong about Miss Jones, sir. She come down, as nice as nice, last evening, after you went, and said she quite understood, and would see the children used the back way in future, so I said when wet they were welcome to use the front, it being quicker and not so puddly, and I’d put down the noospaper in the ’all to save their dirty feet, pervided they went straight through the green-baize door and always used the back stairs, to which she was quite agreeable, and thanked me.”

  “Compromise, thy name is England,” said Timothy. “Well, that’s fine, Mrs. Dewes. And you’re sure the footprints couldn’t have been those of Miss Jones?—speaking without prejudice, of course.”

  “Not without she wears ’erring boxes without topses, as the old song says, sir, and, actually, her feet is quite dainty.”

  “Well, if you can manage to find me some sort of shakedown in here for the night, I’ll come back when I’ve finished my dinner at the club, and do a little snooping of my own. I’m taking over Mr. Coningsby’s job while he’s up in Wales doing photography for the next committee meeting.”

  “It’ll be a comfort to ’ave you on the spot, sir. There’s still them noises in the night.”

  To Timothy’s surprise, the president was again in the bar when he went along there for a cocktail before dinner.

  “Hullo, Tim,” he said. “My wife has elected to accompany her host and hostess to the ballet tonight, so I’m off the lead again. What shall we do for kicks?”

  “Go and track down the Phisbe ghost,” said Timothy. The president grinned in dismissal of the spectre.

  “My turn tonight. What will you have?” he asked.

  “Dry Martini, thanks. No, I’m perfectly serious. Mrs. Dewes isn’t the woman to claim that she sees footprints, unless the footprints are there, let alone hear noises in the night.”

  “Well, no, she wouldn’t be imagining them, would she? Come across to that little table and tell me more. I thought Mrs. Dewes was convinced that your Marion Jones was the pathological snooper. Has she changed her tune?”

  “Some
what, but I don’t think that’s the answer. In fact, I’m so certain it isn’t that I’m going to spend the night there and find out what, if anything, is going on in that house. I’m getting some sort of shakedown in the committee room. Why don’t you come and see the fun?”

  “Sure I wouldn’t cramp your style?”

  “No, seriously, will you come? After all, you are the president, so, if there is anything funny going on, you ought to know about it.”

  “Well, I do know about it. You’ve just told me.”

  “Is there anything among the archives that someone outside the Society might want to look at, do you suppose?”

  “Good heavens, no! Come on, let’s have another. Same again for you? By the way,” he added, when he came back with the drinks, “I suppose you haven’t asked Mrs. Dewes whether they had any suspicions that anybody gate-crashed the house before Marion Jones arrived there? It might be worth finding out.”

  “Well, it wasn’t until these last two days that any disturbances were mentioned by the Dewes—although, come to think of it, Marion also mentioned noises she’s heard at night.”

  “But Mrs. Dewes has gone back on her first opinion that Miss Jones was the prowler?”

  “She was impressed by the size of these footprints made by rubber-soled shoes on the polished boards.”

  “The size, yes. And she didn’t mention footprints until this morning. Oh, well, let’s dine, and I’ll walk round with you, unless you’ve got your car.”

  “No, I took a taxi, but it isn’t far to walk. Oh, Coningsby thought it looked a bit like rain. We wouldn’t want to walk in the rain.”

  “No, people only sing in it. What did you tell Coningsby to do about the photographs?”

  “To take them from all angles, and to make a couple of sketch-plans and give one of them to Parsons.”

  “I might go up there tomorrow and see how he’s shaping. Your Nanradoc begins to interest me. Anyway, I’ll certainly come along with you after dinner and have a word with the Dewes, even if I don’t stay the night.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Poltergeist

  Timothy had no expectation that the president would spend the night at the Phisbe headquarters. They arrived at soon after nine o’clock to interrupt Mrs. Dewes’s television viewing and to be informed that Dewes had gone out for his evening constitutional which was, by interpretation, to the pub.