Death of a Peer ra-10 Read online

  Mike was taking a long time. Roberta took a cigarette from a box on the sideboard and hunted about the room for matches. At last she found some. She lit her cigarette and leant over the window sill. She became aware of a new sound. It came up through her conscious thoughts, gaining definition and edge. It was a thin blade of sound, sharp and insistent. It grew louder. It was inside the building, an intermittent, horridly shrill noise that came closer. A hand closed round Roberta’s heart. Someone was screaming.

  CHAPTER VI

  CATASTROPHE

  When Roberta realized that this intolerable sound was on the landing, close at hand, part of the flat itself, she was filled with a strange irresolution. Someone was screaming in the Lampreys’ flat and there didn’t seem to be anything for Roberta to do about it. She was unable to feel the correct impulses and run helpfully towards the source of these unpleasing noises. No doubt the Lampreys were doing that. Roberta, with a leaping heart, could only stand and wonder at her behaviour. While she still hung off on this queer point of social procedure, someone pounded down the passage. Without conscious volition Roberta followed. She was just in time to see Baskett’s coat-tails whisk round the corner. As she passed the drawing-room Henry ran through the hall from the landing. The screaming stopped suddenly like a train whistle.

  “Frightfulness!” said Henry as he passed Roberta. “Robin, for God’s sake, get the kids out of it, will you? I’m for the telephone.”

  Abruptly filled with initiative, Roberta ran through the hall to the landing.

  All the other Lampreys were on the landing with Baskett, Nanny and Lady Wutherwood. They were gathered round the lift. Patch and Mike were on the outskirts of this little crowd. Charlot held Lady Wutherwood by the arms. Roberta knew now that it was Lady Wutherwood who had screamed. Lord Charles and one of the twins seemed to be inside the lift. Frid, sheet-white, stood just behind them with the other twin. When Lord Charles and the boys turned, Roberta saw that their faces were as white as Frid’s. They looked like people in a nightmare. From within the lift came a curious sound, as if somebody were gargling. It persisted. The Lampreys seemed to listen attentively to this noise. Nobody spoke for a moment and then Roberta heard Lord Charles whispering “No! No! No!

  “Hullo,” said Mike, seeing her. “What’s happening to Uncle Gabriel?”

  Patch took his hand. “Come along, Mike,” she said. “We’ll go into the dining-room.”

  So Roberta did not have to give Henry’s message.

  “Come on, Mike,” repeated Patch in a strange voice and dragged at Mike’s hand.

  They moved away. Roberta was about to follow them when the group at the lift broke up. Roberta saw inside the lift. Lord Wutherwood was sitting in there. A ray of light from the roof of the lift-well had caught the side of his head. For the fraction of a second she had an impression that in his left eye he wore a glass with a wide dark ribbon that clung to the contours of his face. Then she saw that the thing she had mistaken for a glass was well out in front of his eye. Lord Charles moved aside and the interior of the lift became lighter. Roberta’s whole being-was flooded with an intolerable nausea. She heard her own voice whisper, hurriedly, “But it can’t — it can’t — it’s disgusting.” She could not drag her gaze off the figure in the lift. She felt as though her entire body strained away from the frozen pivot of her sight. His mouth and his right eye were wide open and inside his mouth the sound of gargling grew louder, and still Roberta could not move.

  “Better out of that, m’lady,” said Nanny’s trembling voice. “Folks will be ringing for the lift. If Mr. Baskett and one of the twins got the top of the ironing trestle—”

  Charlot said: “Yes. Will you, Baskett? And you, Colin, help him.”

  The nearest twin went away with Baskett. Nanny followed them.

  “Come away for a moment, Violet,” said Charlot. “Violet, come away.” Lady Wutherwood opened her mouth. “No!” said Charlot. She propelled Lady Wutherwood forward into the hall and saw Roberta.

  “Robin, get some brandy. Top shelf in the pantry.”

  Robin had not been in the pantry. On the way she saw a maid’s face looking palely out of a distant door. She found the pantry. Her brain worked frantically to push down, thrust out of mind, the picture of the figure in the lift. It must be repudiated, displaced, covered up. She must do things. How did one know which of these bottles was brandy? Cognac meant brandy. She took it with a glass to the drawing-room. Henry stood over the desk-telephone. “At once. Couldn’t be more urgent. Yes, to the head. Through his eye. I said his eye.” He put the receiver down. “Dr. Kantripp’s coming, Mummy.”

  “Good,” said Charlot. Roberta had given her a tumbler half full of brandy. The edge of the tumbler chattered like a castanet against Lady Wutherwood’s teeth. Henry, with an expression of disgust, glanced at his aunt.

  “Better have some yourself,” he said to his mother. She shook her head. Henry added quickly: “And I rang up the police.”

  “Good.”

  Feet stumbled on the landing beyond the hall.

  “They’re moving him,“ said Charlot.

  “I’d better go, then.”

  Henry went out.

  “Can I do anything?” asked Roberta. She had spoken to nobody since Mike left her alone in the dining-room. Her voice sounded oddly in her ears.

  “What?” Charlot saw her. “Oh, Robin, ask the maids to get plenty of boiling water. Doctors are so fond of boiling water, aren’t they? And Robin, I don’t know where the servants went, Tinkerton and Giggle, I mean. Could you find them and tell them there’s been an accident. And the lift. Somebody may want the lift. The doctor will. Did we shut the door?”

  “I’ll see.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Roberta hurried away and found time confusedly to marvel at Charlot’s command of her nerves and of the situation. The Lampreys, she thought hurriedly, do rise to situations. She delivered the message to the maids. Now she must return to the landing. The lift was still open. Roberta stood stock-still with her hands on the doors, drilling her thoughts, telling them that he was gone, that she must look inside the lift. And, with a great effort, she lifted her head and looked. A little above the place where Lord Wutherwood had sat was a bright steel boss in the lift wall. In the centre of the boss was a small hollow which seemed to be stained. As she stared at it the stain grew longer. She heard a tap, a tiny dab of sound. She looked at the leather top of the seat. In the dent made by Lord Wutherwood she saw a little black pool where his blood had dropped from the stain on the wall. Back to the pantry, running as fast as she could go… A yellow duster…Then the lift again…It had looked so small a pool but it spread into her cloth and smeared over the leather… Now the wall. She heard a bell ringing. That would be someone who wanted the lift. Back on the landing, she slammed the doors and the lift at once sank beneath her fingers. Henry came out from 26 and looked at the cloth in her hands. He seemed like a figure in a dream and spoke like one.

  “Clever Robin,” said Henry. “But it won’t do much good, you know. You can’t wipe away murder.”

  Roberta had pushed that word out of her thoughts. She said: “It’s not that — I mean I wasn’t trying to do that. Only people will be using the lift. It looked so frightful.”

  Henry took the cloth from her.

  “There’s a fire in the dining-room,” he said.

  Roberta remembered her errands. “Have you seen Tinkerton and Giggle?”

  “I don’t think they’re in the flat. Why?”

  “They must be in the car. Charlot wants them told.”

  “I’ll go,” Henry offered.

  “No, please. If you’ll do — that.”

  “All right,” said Henry and went away with the cloth.

  Roberta was running downstairs… Four landings with blank walls and steel numbers… Long windows… Heavy carpet under her feet. The lift passed her, bearing an immobile man in an overcoat and a bowler hat, carrying a bag in his hand… Now the
entrance hall with the porter who looked bewildered and perturbed and stared at Roberta. She remembered his name.

  “Oh, Stamford, have you seen Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur?”

  “Yes, Miss. He’s in his lordship’s car. My Gawd, Miss, what’s gone wrong?”

  “Someone has been taken ill.”

  “The screaming, Miss. It was something frightful.”

  “I know. A fit of hysterics. We’re sorry about the lift. There’s been an accident.”

  Better, she thought, to say something about it. The doctor might have said something. She walked quickly through the entrance into the street. The sun had set on London and there was an evening coolness in the air. The sensation of dream receded a little. There was the car, a large grand car with Giggle sitting at the wheel and a woman in a drab hat beside him. They did not notice Roberta and she had to tap on the window, making them jump. Giggle got out and came round to her, touching his cap.

  “Giggle,” Roberta began, wishing he had another name, “there’s been an accident.”

  He looked at her, maddeningly stolid.

  “An accident, Miss?”

  “Yes, to Lord Wutherwood. He’s hurt himself. Lady Charles thinks you had better come up.”

  “Yes, Miss. Will Miss Tinkerton be needed, Miss?”

  Roberta didn’t know. She said: “I think perhaps you should both come. Lady Wutherwood may want Tinkerton.”

  They followed her into the hall. The lift was down again. Stamford opened the doors. Conquering a sudden and violent reluctance, Roberta went in. She saw that the two servants were preparing to walk up. English servants, she thought, and said: “Will you both come up in the lift, please?”

  They got in and Giggle pressed the button. Tinkerton was a small woman with black eyes and a guarded expression. They won’t speak until I do, thought Roberta.

  “The doctor has come,” she said. “It’s an upset, isn’t it?”

  They both said: “Yes, Miss,” and Tinkerton added in a mumbling voice, “Is her ladyship much hurt, Miss?”

  “It’s not her ladyship,” said Roberta, “it’s his lordship.” She remembered insanely that someone once said you had to use “Your Majesty” in every phrase of a letter written to the King. Your Majesty, your lordship, his lordship, her ladyship.

  “His lordship, Miss?”

  “Yes. He has hurt his head. I don’t really know what happened.”

  “No, Miss.”

  The lift reached the top landing. Roberta felt as if she were followed by two embarrassingly large dogs. She asked them to wait and left them standing woodenly on the landing.

  Now she was back in the flat and didn’t know where to go. Perhaps Patch and Mike were still in the dining-room. She stood in the hall and listened. There was a murmur of voices in the drawing-room. Baskett came along the passage carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses. Extraordinary sight, thought Roberta. Can they possibly have settled down for another glass of sherry? Baskett dated from the New Zealand days; he was an old friend of Roberta’s and she did not feel shy with him.

  “Baskett, who’s in the drawing-room?”

  “The family, Miss, with the exception of his lordship. His lordship is with the doctor, Miss.”

  “And Lady Wutherwood?”

  “I understand her ladyship is lying down, Miss.”

  Baskett lingered for a moment, looking down in a kindly and human manner at Roberta.

  “The family will be glad to have you with them, Miss Robin,” he said.

  “Have you heard how — how he is?”

  “He seemed to be unconscious, Miss, when we carried him into his lordship’s dressing-room — but alive. I haven’t heard any further report.”

  “No. Baskett.”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “What was the matter with — his eye?”

  The network of threadlike veins across Baskett’s cheekbones started out against his bleached skin. The glasses on the tray jingled.

  “I shouldn’t worry about it, Miss. You’ll only upset yourself.”

  He opened the drawing-room door and stood aside for her to go in.

  II

  The Lampreys were nice to Roberta. She kept saying to herself, they are nice to think about me. Henry gave her a glass of sherry and Charlot said what a help she had been. They were all very quiet and seemed to listen attentively for something to happen. Charlot had just left Lady Wutherwood who was lying on her bed. She was no longer hysterical and had asked for Tinkerton. Roberta took Tinkerton to the door of the room and then rejoined the others. Nanny came in and in the usual way dragooned Mike off to bed. Charlot asked Patch to go with Nanny and Mike.

  “But, Mummy—” Patch began — “it’s hours before my bedtime. Can’t I—”

  “Please be with Mike, Patch.”

  “All right.”

  “What is the time?” asked Frid.

  “Quarter to eight,” said Nanny from the door. “Come along, Michael and Patricia.”

  “Can it be no more than an hour since they came!” said Charlot.

  “Aunt Kit got here earlier,” said Colin.

  “Aunt Kit!” Charlot looked from one to another of her children. “For pity’s sake, what has become of Aunt Kit?”

  “Has anybody seen her?” asked Frid.

  Nobody, it appeared, had seen Lady Katherine since the brothers were left alone in the dining-room and Charlot took the aunts to her bedroom.

  “We stayed there for about ten minutes I suppose,” said Charlot, “and then she said she wished to ‘disappear.’ She knows the flat quite well so I didn’t lead the way or anything. Stephen — go and see if you can find her.”

  Stephen went away but returned to say that unless Aunt Kit was in with the doctor and Lord Charles she was not in the flat.

  “Well,” said Henry, “she told you, Mummy, that she wished to disappear and she has.”

  “But—”

  “Darling,” said Frid jerkily, “we can’t be worried about Aunt Kit. Honestly.”

  “At least,” said Stephen, “she had behaved with d-decent reticence. Did you ever hear anything more disgraceful than Aunt V.?”

  “Poor thing,” said Charlot.

  “I simply can’t feel sorry for her,” said Henry.

  “I can only feel sick,” said Stephen. “I feel very sick indeed. Does anyone else?”

  “Shut up,” said Colin automatically.

  “Here’s Daddy,” said Frid.

  Lord Charles came in at the far door. He walked slowly across the room to his family. Charlot made a quick, contained movement with her hands. Her husband stood before her.

  “Well, darling?” she asked.

  “Immy,” said Lord Charles, “he’s not dead. He’s alive still ”

  “Will he live?”

  “It doesn’t seem possible.”

  “Charlie — if he dies?”

  “It seems that if Gabriel dies he will have been murdered.”

  There was a dead silence and then Henry said in a strange voice: “Isn’t there a book called It Can’t Happen Here?”

  Stephen said: “Of c-course he’s murdered. Of course he’ll die. With that thing through his b-brain, why didn’t he die at once?”

  “Shut up,” said Colin.

  Lord Charles sat on the arm of his wife’s chair and put his hand on her shoulder. It was the first time Roberta had ever seen him do this. “Where’s Patch?” he asked.

  “I sent her away with Mike and Nanny. She — didn’t see, but I thought—”

  “Yes. She and Mike will know of course but it might be as well, Imogen, if you told them. The rest of you had better hear the whole story now. Unless Robin—”

  Roberta said, “If it’s private of course—”

  “Private! My dear child, it will be front-page news in every paper by to-morrow.”

  “So it will!” Frid ejaculated. “I say, we ought to tell Nigel Bathgate. It’d be a lovely scoop for him, wouldn’t it?”

 
“I must say, Frid,” said Henry, “I think that a particularly mad suggestion of yours.”

  “I don’t see why. As Daddy says, it will be in all the papers anyway so why not give Nigel a break? I daresay he’d fight off all the other press-men for us. Shall I ring him up, Mummy?”

  “Not now, Frid. And yet I don’t know. Nigel might be a sort of protection, Charlie.”

  “I really do not consider,” said Lord Charles with emphasis, “that one rings up young journalists, however charming, and tells them that one’s relations have been murderously assaulted! You none of you seem to realize…” He broke off and looked at Roberta who was still hovering doubtfully. “Robin, my dear, we have no secrets from you. I’m only so sorry that you should have been plunged into this nightmare. Stay by all means, if you will.”

  “Don’t go away, Robin,” said Henry.

  “No, don’t go,” said the others. So Roberta stayed.

  Lord Charles beat gently on his wife’s shoulder with his thin hand. Without looking up at him she leant towards him.

  “I’m glad it’s Dr. Kantripp,” she said. “He knows us so well. It would have been much worse if he had been a stranger.”

  “It would have made no difference.”

  “None?” asked Charlot on an indrawn breath.

  “Very little, at any rate.”

  “What will happen?” she asked.

  “A man from the police-station is here. At the moment he is telephoning Scotland Yard. There’s another man in there with Gabriel.”

  There was a short silence broken by Charlot.

  “Well,” she said, “none of us tried to kill him, of course, so I suppose we simply tell the truth.”

  Nobody answered her.

  “Don’t we?” Charlot persisted.

  “We’ll tell the truth,” said Lord Charles, “certainly.” He looked at his children. “I want you to listen carefully. Your uncle was alone in the lift for some time before he and Aunt Violet were taken down. It seems that he was sitting in the lift with his hat pulled forward and his head bent. Your aunt only discovered that he was hurt after the lift had gone some way down. You all must have heard the return. Now each of you may have to account for your movements after your — after he got into the lift. Try to remember exactly what you did and where you were. If…”