The Judgement of Strangers Read online

‘Just wondered,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘After all, they were neighbours.’

  23

  Shortly after the police left, I went to visit the widow of the man who had died over the weekend. She lived in one of the council houses on Manor Farm Lane, not far from the Potters’. The house was full of relations, and the television was on all the time I was there. I did what I could and left as soon as was decently possible; now the man was dead and the funeral was arranged, I was no longer wanted.

  I walked back along the north side of the green. As I was passing the bus shelter, I heard a voice call my name. Audrey was leaning from the window of her first-floor sitting room.

  ‘Can you spare a moment?’ Her face was bright and alert. ‘One or two points about our fete.’

  She came down to meet me in the hall. The tea room had just closed, and Charlene Potter was clearing the tables. She gave me a smile as I passed. I followed Audrey upstairs. She settled me in the wing armchair that had been her father’s. (‘It’s a chair meant for a man, don’t you think? I never sit in it myself.’) She opened the door of her sideboard and took out glasses and a bottle.

  ‘You’ll join me in a glass of sherry, won’t you?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She was already pouring sherry into the glasses. ‘Such terribly sad news about Lady Youlgreave. Of course, she was very old and I suppose it could have happened at any time – living by herself in that wreck of a house with only those dogs for company.’ She handed me a brimming glass. ‘I wonder who will inherit. I believe there are Youlgreave cousins in Herefordshire somewhere, but I don’t think they were in touch. And some of them emigrated. New Zealand, was it?’ She settled herself in the chair by the window, sighed with satisfaction, and raised her glass. ‘Chin-chin. She should have gone into a home years ago. She would have had to if Doris hadn’t been there. I told Charlene, “Your mother may think she’s doing Lady Youlgreave a kindness,” I said, “but the poor dear would be much better off in a proper nursing home.” Still, some people just won’t be told.’

  I sipped my sherry.

  ‘Do smoke. It’s Liberty Hall here!’ Audrey jumped up to fetch me an ashtray. ‘Charlene tells me you were actually there.’

  ‘Doris phoned me when she found the body.’

  ‘It must have been frightful,’ Audrey said with relish. ‘Of course, the police have got it wrong as usual. Typical. I’m not surprised after the way they handled Lord Peter’s death.’

  ‘What have they got wrong?’

  ‘Apparently they think that Lady Youlgreave was trying to reach her medicine on the mantelpiece, and she tripped. But it can’t have happened like that. Charlene was quite upset about it. She thinks the police are trying to blame her mother – for leaving the medicine out on the mantelpiece. But that’s nonsense. The whole point of leaving it on the mantelpiece was because Lady Youlgreave couldn’t reach it there.’

  Startled, I said, ‘But the mantelpiece isn’t that high.’

  ‘You obviously hadn’t seen Lady Youlgreave walk lately.’ Audrey wagged a finger at me in playful reproof. ‘She was bent almost double, apparently – because of the crumbling of the spine or something. And she couldn’t raise her arms above her shoulders. That’s why they chose the mantelpiece: for the simple reason she couldn’t reach it. You know how confused these poor old dears can get about whether or not they’ve had their medicine.’

  I had found a cigarette and was patting my pockets, searching for matches. Audrey leapt up again to bring me a light. While she was on her feet, she topped up our sherry glasses.

  ‘And then there’s the fact that she cancelled the nurse from the Fishguard Agency: very puzzling.’ Audrey sank down again in her chair, sitting more heavily than before, and sipped her sherry. ‘She didn’t like having a nurse, of course. She was only really happy with Doris. But Dr Vintner made her, for Doris’s sake.’

  ‘You mentioned something about the fete –’

  Audrey was still speaking. ‘There’s also the point that she didn’t like using the telephone …’

  She half closed her eyes and stared out of the window. It was an unnatural pose, as rigid as a waxwork’s – and, also like a waxwork, a pose designed with the viewer in mind. I realized suddenly that what I was seeing was the great detective at work: Roth’s answer to Miss Marple.

  ‘To my mind, there are two alternatives,’ Audrey went on. ‘Either Lady Youlgreave cancelled the nurse, intentionally intending to commit suicide over the weekend. Or she cancelled the nurse simply because she didn’t like her. We have to remember that she was very confused. What with the pain and the morphine she was hardly human any more, was she?’

  ‘We shall all grow old,’ I said. ‘Or most of us will. Does that make us any less human?’

  Already pink, Audrey’s face darkened to red. ‘Just a figure of speech. I’m as sad as anyone that Lady Youlgreave has passed on. It’s the end of an era. The last Youlgreave in Roth. She was so striking as a young woman, too. So dashing. She used to have wonderful parties before the war … I was telling Rosemary how she seemed to us children only the other day – Rosemary could hardly believe me.’

  I stubbed out my cigarette carefully in the ashtray. ‘It’s good of you to let Rosemary spend so much time with you.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ Audrey cooed, allowing herself to be diverted from Lady Youlgreave. ‘Between you and me, I think she’s rather lonely. If Vanessa were at home in the week, it would be a different story – but Vanessa is a working woman.’ She giggled. ‘So am I: I have always been a career woman and proud of it. But you see, I work at home, and I can choose my own hours. It’s been a real pleasure to see more of her this holiday. Such a lovely girl. More sherry?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I really should be –’

  ‘I think I might have a teensy little one.’ Audrey reached out for the bottle. ‘Dr Vintner says that a glass or two of sherry is just the thing to help one unwind after the day’s work.’ The neck of the bottle trembled against the rim of Audrey’s glass and a drop of sherry snaked down the curves of glass and stem, slid across the base and formed a miniature puddle on the gleaming surface of the wine table. ‘She’s been terribly useful in my investigation.’

  ‘Rosemary has? What’s she been doing exactly?’

  Audrey dabbed at the puddle of sherry with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘Nothing to worry about, I promise you. No, she’s made one or two useful suggestions about lines of approach. It washer idea that I asked Mr Malik about who buys his cider. You remember you found a bottle of Autumn Gold with the fur and the blood?’

  ‘I expect dozens of people buy that particular brand of cider.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I felt one name was especially significant.’ She lowered her voice to a hiss: Kevin Jones – he’s Charlene’s boyfriend.’

  ‘I really think you must be very careful.’

  ‘Oh, but I am. I lock up very carefully and I take the poker upstairs with me.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. We don’t know that the cider bottle had anything to do with what happened to Lord Peter. There’s no proof whatsoever. And even if there were, there’s no proof that Charlene’s young man bought the bottle. And even if he did, it wouldn’t follow that he played a part in what happened to Lord Peter.’

  Audrey waved her glass and the little liquid it contained slopped dangerously near the brim. ‘I’ve seen him in the bus shelter. He’s one of that gang of louts. He wasn’t there when I called the police. But he might have been. And the others were his friends. I hate to say it, but I have to consider the possibility that’ – once again she lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper – ‘there’s a traitor in the camp. Lord Peter trusted Charlene completely. He would have gone anywhere with her.’

  ‘Audrey,’ I snapped. ‘You must stop this.’

  She flung herself against the back of her chair, flinching as though I had hit her. ‘But –’

  ‘I’m serious. For
your own sake. Saying this sort of thing without evidence constitutes slander. If you repeat it in public, you might end up in court.’ I watched her lips tremble and tried to soften my tone. ‘I don’t know Kevin, but Charlene seems the last person to become involved with a business like this.’

  ‘Slander? I suppose you’re right.’ She had her face under control once more. ‘I should have thought of that. It’s so infuriating, the difference between knowledge and proof. But those louts must have been involved. Lord Peter’s collar was in the bus shelter. You can’t get away from that.’

  I looked at my watch, more openly this time. ‘Dear me.’ I pantomimed mild shock. ‘Time’s getting on. Now, what did you want to discuss about the fete?’

  Audrey swallowed and for a moment I thought she would take the change of subject as a reproof. Instead she smiled. ‘Dear Rosemary. A wise head on young shoulders. I would never have thought of it. It’s the car parking.’

  ‘I thought we’d sorted that out.’

  ‘Rosemary reminded me that last year we had a number of people who parked on the double yellow lines round the green. Do you remember? The police were rather annoyed. Nowadays, every Tom, Dick and Harry has his own car. None of them walks anywhere at all, as far as I can see. Rosemary wondered whether the Cliffords would let us use the verge of their drive as an overflow car park once the paddock’s filled up. I know we asked the Bramleys one year, and they said no, because they felt it would upset their residents. (They always said that when they didn’t want to do something.) But the Cliffords are quite a different kettle of fish. Rosemary said she was quite friendly with them so she would ask them. I said, how splendid, naturally – I didn’t want to hurt her pride. But I did wonder if the request might come better from you.’

  I put down my empty glass very carefully on the table. ‘I’ll see if I can have a word with them.’

  ‘That would be marvellous. And do you think you could also manage to see how many cars might fit? I know it can only be an estimate, but it would be a help. I’ve already added “Car Parking” to next week’s advertisement in the paper.’

  I promised I would see what I could do. Audrey had always been inclined to fuss about the details of the fete, but this year she was fussing even more than usual.

  I stood up, determined to leave. She took me downstairs, chattering brightly about James Vintner’s barbecue (‘I hope it won’t encourage the wrong sort of people’) and the enormous quantity of home-made cakes which had been promised for the cake stall. As we reached the hall, the kitchen door opened and Charlene came out with a handbag draped over her arm. She had taken off her overall.

  ‘Are you off home?’ Audrey asked. ‘Already?’

  ‘It’s after half past six,’ said Charlene. ‘Everything’s cleared. The tea towels are soaking in the sink.’

  ‘I see,’ Audrey said darkly, and paused as if searching for some flaw or omission in this. ‘Good. Well, see you tomorrow. Are you and your young man going out tonight?’

  Charlene shot her a wary glance. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, be careful,’ Audrey said enigmatically. ‘That’s all I ask.’

  I stood aside to let Charlene go first.

  Audrey brought her head close to my ear. I could smell sweat on her body and sherry on her breath. ‘Such a coarse girl,’ she hissed. ‘And quite untrainable. My poor mother would be turning in her grave.’

  ‘Thank you so much for the sherry,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know about the car parking as soon as I can.’

  We said goodbye. Audrey waved from the doorway as I walked through the little front garden and up the steps to the wrought-iron gate. Only when I was on the pavement did the door close at last.

  Charlene was standing outside Malik’s Minimarket, apparently studying the window display. As the door closed, she looked at me.

  ‘Mr Byfield? Could you spare a minute?’

  I smiled at her. ‘Of course.’ I wondered if I would ever get home that evening. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Would you – would you mind coming over here?’ She beckoned me towards where she was standing. When we were both in front of the shop window, she went on, ‘It’s only that Miss Oliphant will see us standing outside her gate, and she’ll wonder what we’re talking about.’

  ‘Would that be awkward?’

  ‘She’d badger me tomorrow until I’d told her what it was about.’

  We stood side by side, staring at an array of cereal packets. Neither of us said anything, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. She snapped open her bag, took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head when she offered me the packet.

  ‘She doesn’t let me smoke on the premises.’ Charlene grinned up at me, suddenly wicked. ‘It’s not ladylike. Nor’s smoking in public.’

  I nodded, and waited.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Charlene told the cereal packets. ‘She’s been good to me, really. Her bark’s worse than her bite.’

  Like Beauty and Beast?

  ‘The thing is, I’m worried about her. I told Mum about it last night, and she said the best thing to do was have a word with you.’ Charlene shot off on a tangent. ‘Poor Mum. She’s really knocked sideways.’

  Doris was someone else I should see. In a sense she was the one most affected by Lady Youlgreave’s death: the principal mourner. Those who care for dependent persons become themselves dependent. And Doris and Lady Youlgreave had been friends, though perhaps neither would have used the word in relation to the other.

  ‘Miss Oliphant’s always had her little ways. You know, going on about how things have changed since she was a little girl. And – and things like that.’ Charlene glanced up at me to see how I was taking this. ‘But these last few months she’s been different. Now she’s always up and down. Right up and right down. And since her cat went, it’s got even worse. She talks to herself, you know – she never used to do that. And once or twice she’s shouted at me, really screamed. I don’t think she’s eating much, either. And she gets these ideas in her head – like she thinks the kids are after her.’

  ‘And are they?’

  Charlene looked startled. ‘They’ve got better things to do. Mind you, she’s not their favourite person. But that’s neither here nor there. What worries me is, she really seems to think she’s some sort of detective. Like in them books she reads.’ Charlene’s voice slid into high-pitched, genteel mimicry. ‘It was the butler did it in the library. With the lead piping. And – Mr Byfield – don’t think I’m talking out of turn, but I don’t think Rosemary’s helping. She’s sort of encouraging her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I knew I must have spoken sharply by the expression on Charlene’s face. ‘How?’

  ‘You know,’ she mumbled. ‘Looking for clues. Stuff like that.’

  ‘Clues about what happened to Lord Peter?’

  Charlene nodded.

  ‘Yes, I know something about that,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with Rosemary, and we’ll all keep an eye on Miss Oliphant.’

  A moment later, I said goodbye and walked home. I was aware that I had not handled the interview well. I liked Charlene, but I thought it likely she was exaggerating. In every parish there tends to be at least one unmarried, churchgoing middle-aged lady who occasionally acts oddly; there are men, too, for that matter; and the older they get, the more oddly they tend to behave. But in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, it was nothing more than harmless eccentricity. Why should Audrey be any different?

  Vanessa’s car was in the Vicarage drive. I let myself into the house. Michael was watching television in the sitting room.

  ‘Hello. Where is everyone?’

  ‘Rosemary’s out still,’ he said. ‘Aunt Vanessa’s upstairs.’

  I was about to leave when a thought delayed me. ‘Michael?’

  He dragged his eyes away from the grey figures flickering on the screen. I had intended to ask him if he had been listening to my conversation
with Clough and Franklyn earlier this afternoon. Suddenly I no longer wanted to. It would be tantamount to making an accusation. The boy had probably just been playing a game. Nor was it likely that he would have heard much, even if he had been eavesdropping. Clough and I were both relatively soft-spoken.

  The phone rang, giving me the excuse I needed.

  ‘Nothing.’ I smiled at him and went into the study. It was James Vintner, sounding harassed.

  ‘Have you heard?’ he said.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘There’s going to be an inquest.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Wednesday, probably. Waste of an entire afternoon.’

  ‘Do you know if I’m likely to be called as a witness?’

  ‘I doubt it. If they wanted you, I think they would have been in touch by now. But I thought I’d better warn you.’

  ‘You don’t think –?’

  ‘I don’t think anything. In normal circumstances I’d have certified the death without another thought. Old lady, I’d seen her in the morning of the day she died. Terminally ill. Has a fall, and off she goes: all very sad, but just like dozens of other old ladies. Nothing suspicious about it.’

  ‘So why aren’t these normal circumstances?’

  ‘Ask your Mrs Potter. It’s all her fault. Her and those damned dogs.’ He hesitated. ‘Sorry to sound off like this. It’s been a long day. And I don’t like it when my patients die.’ He cleared his throat, perhaps aware that for once he had openly admitted that he cared about his job. He added hurriedly, ‘Especially the private ones. Like gold dust, these days.’

  A moment later we said goodbye. I went upstairs. Vanessa was in our room, sitting on the bed and staring grimly into space.

  ‘That was James,’ I said. ‘There’s going to be an inquest on Lady Youlgreave.’

  She nodded but did not reply.

  ‘What is it?’

  She turned her head to look at me. ‘Nothing, really. I suppose it’s her dying. It seems strange that I won’t be able to go and sit in her dining room any more.’