Night and Day Read online

  ‘Of course, Ma’am,’ the maid said and dropped a slight curtsey, taking the card and putting it in the drawer of the hall table. She was hugging herself as if cold. ‘I’ll tell Madam when she’s feeling—a bit—better.’ As they went out she added, ‘Thank you so much for taking the trouble. I know it meant a lot to Mrs Dunne. I’ll let you know about the—erm—arrangements. I’m sure Mrs Dunne will be pleased to have your company.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it myself,’ Flora said in an aside to Dottie once they were out on the pavement again. The door had closed behind them, and they crossed the empty road to reach Flora’s car.

  ‘I suppose to be fair, one could hardly expect her to be jumping for joy,’ Dottie remarked. ‘She didn’t seem to know about me being with him at the end though. I’d have thought the police would have told her everything that happened.’

  She glanced back at the house and noticed a curtain at an upstairs window twitch. ‘My friend was right, you know,’ she said to Flora as they got into the car, ‘she is definitely a bit odd.’

  ‘Oh definitely. That handkerchief was bone dry.’

  *

  They lunched at Claridge’s. There they met some acquaintances who had heard all about the murder, and who were very keen to ask Dottie about her ‘ghastly ordeal’.

  ‘I’m sure I should have swooned,’ one said, while the other laughed.

  ‘You would have ‘swooned’ as you put it, if you’d so much as seen a spider. You’re the biggest scaredy-cat of all time.’

  ‘True. Last time I was at the Royal, I went into the ladies’ cloakroom, and on the vanity unit there was the largest spider I’ve ever seen. When Jennie came to find me half an hour later, I was still out cold on the floor. Anything could have happened!’ she added with a delicious shiver.

  Dottie smiled and avoided catching Flora’s eye in case they made each other laugh. ‘We’ve just been to pay a call of condolence on Susan Dunne,’ Dottie said. Laughter followed this.

  ‘Gosh, I bet that was awful,’ the scaredy-cat one said.

  ‘She was a little—she wasn’t really quite ready to receive visitors,’ Dottie added, employing the new tact her sister had been attempting to teach her.

  ‘Oh goodness! Is Susan Dunne ever ready to receive visitors? I should think they have very few. That house! I know Archie could never invite people for dinner, or even just for drinks. What an odd stick she is.’

  That word again.

  ‘Why is she considered so odd? In what way?’ Flora asked, leaning forward so she could keep her voice down.

  ‘Well you know her, so you’re probably better informed than I. She has these strange religious ideas. At least, they’re sort of religious, but rather out of the normal way. This is something new, secretive. Doesn’t she think she’s the reincarnation of some ancient high priestess or something?’

  ‘No silly,’ said Jennie, ‘it was Archie himself. Something to do with the Freemasons or—well I don’t really know, to be honest, it’s just the whispers one hears.’

  ‘No, it’s definitely her,’ insisted Scaredy Cat. Jennie rolled her eyes. ‘No seriously, Jen, I mean everyone knows they were a bit unusual. Didn’t go in for visitors, she never goes out to parties or dinners or the like.’

  ‘He was wearing evening dress,’ Dottie remembered suddenly, ‘We told Susan that he asked me to give her his love, and when he—died—he was humming that tune from that show that’s on at the Palace. The one with Fred Astaire.’

  ‘Gay Divorce do you mean? We’ve been to see it three times, it’s just wonderful.’ Jennie sipped her tea, then asked, ‘Which song, by the way?’

  ‘Night and Day,’ Dottie said, and involuntarily blushed as she remembered singing it for the sergeant. There was a silence at their two tables. Dottie wondered if the others, like her, were mentally singing their way through the verses, trying to find something to link Archie and his manner of death with the song he had been singing as he lay dying. But unlike her, they could not visualise the scene—the cold, dark night, the rain droplets pattering all round and splashing into the puddles. The man in smart evening dress, lying on the wet ground, the tails of his coat spread out, and again, the ever-present rain, soaking through the stuff of his coat. Running into the blood that seeped through his shirt and trickled away down the road and into the gutter. The blood. Neither would they feel the cold, pinching grip of his fingers as they dug into her arm. Absent-mindedly she pushed back her sleeve to look at her arm, and was not in the least surprised to see several round, purplish-green, two-day-old bruises on her skin.

  Jennie leaned forward and grabbed Dottie’s hand, stretching her arm out across the aisle and commenting loudly, ‘My heavens, did he do that to you?’

  Around the restaurant, heads turned towards them. Now they all think I’m a victim of marital cruelty, Dottie thought. She snatched her hand back and tugged down her sleeve.

  ‘Yes, poor man. He was so desperate to make me listen. Which is why it makes no sense at all that he just sang at me, instead of telling me who had attacked him or something a bit more useful.’

  ‘Perhaps he was mad?’ Scaredy Cat suggested. ‘Or perhaps he thought you were Susan? You are a similar colouring. Though obviously she’s a good deal shorter than you.’

  ‘Everyone’s a good deal shorter than Dottie, apart from the Dunnes’s gigantic maid,’ Flora laughed.

  ‘I simply felt he was trying to tell me something, and he seemed very insistent, and at such a time,’ Dottie said, ‘I just can’t understand what he was thinking. It was so thoroughly peculiar.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a kind of code,’ Jennie suggested. ‘Perhaps he was really a spy for a secret organisation and he thought you were his thingy—his contact? Perhaps you were supposed to sing the next line back at him.’

  ‘Well, you’d think he could say something that made sense,’ Dottie said, and Flora nodded.

  ‘Oh yes. Absolutely. Because we told Mrs Dunne about him sending her his undying love...’

  ‘I should think that came as quite a surprise,’ Jennie’s friend said, ‘everyone knows he was the most notorious womaniser. He’s been threatening to leave her practically since the honeymoon, always taking up with some new girl or another. In fact, Susan almost called the wedding off because it was widely known—and talked about—that he was carrying on with some young girl.’

  Flora and Dottie looked at each other.

  ‘That would seem to explain why she behaved so oddly,’ Flora commented.

  ‘You mean, because she didn’t believe he would say he loved her?’

  ‘No, you idiot, because she probably thinks you are his latest floozie. Otherwise how do you explain ‘just happening’ to be with him when he died? And at that time of night. Also in evening wear?’

  ‘Oh!’ Dumbfounded, Dottie thought about that for a moment. That certainly did seem to make sense. It explained Susan’s manner, at least. Archie’s singing was still inexplicable. As a farewell message it was somewhat lacking in actual information.

  ‘More tea?’ Flora asked her. She shook her head.

  ‘Not for me. You go ahead if you want some. Can we go to Liberty’s in a bit? I want to see if I can get some gold fabric for an evening cloak.’

  ‘Gold?’ Flora asked, astonished.

  ‘Well, a sort of bright mustard colour, if they have it. It was that picture at the Dunnes’ that gave me the idea.’

  ‘Oh Queen Esther?’

  ‘Yes, it looked—unusual, I suppose, but very effective with her dark hair. I thought I might try something like that.’

  ‘Why not? I need some gaberdine for a new costume myself. If you like, I’ll take your stuff back with me and ask my needlewoman to make it up for you. She’s very good.’

  ‘I’m coming back with you, remember? The bald vicar with the bad teeth?’

  ‘Lord yes, I’d forgotten. Well in fact a couple of George’s colleagues will be there, so you never know, one of them might do for you.’


  ‘Shut up Flora, or I’ll tell Mother you’ve started smoking again.’

  *

  At Liberty’s, Dottie was thrilled to find some gloriously soft, gold-coloured extra-fine wool that would make a lovely cloak. The saleswoman helped her to find a pattern, and some matching satin to make a beautiful edging. Dottie relished the fresh smell of the fabrics as she and Flora waited whilst the saleswoman cut the stuff, then parcelled everything up together in brown paper, tying it with string. Dottie told her the name of the account and the saleswoman remarked, ‘That stuff will look a treat on you, Miss, when it’s made up, it really will. Most elegant, and lovely and warm. Just right for this awful damp weather we’ve been having. We’ve sold quite a bit of it for cloaks lately, and the ladies have all been very pleased with the results, or so I’ve been told.’

  ‘Oh! Who else has bought some?’ Flora asked, exchanging a glance with Dottie.

  The saleswoman cautiously looked about her before leaning towards them and saying, ‘Why that poor lady as lost her husband. Drunk I expect he was, though it didn’t say so in the papers. Stabbed in the street like a common beggar. Like Russia this place is now, you’re not safe in your own home.’

  Ignoring this, Flora said, ‘Mrs Dunne? She bought some of that same fabric for a cloak?’

  ‘Two lots, Miss. Some for her and a length for her friend Mrs Penterman. And since then there’s been two more ladies have had some. Quite a craze, it seems, but a very becoming colour, especially on you Miss. That poor Mrs Dunne doesn’t have your nice complexion, sadly.’

  In the street, they hurried back to where Flora had parked the car, their packages clutched close against a sudden squally shower. On the way home, they talked about what they had learned.

  ‘Perhaps she just wanted to brighten herself up a bit, perhaps she felt dowdy and depressed and thought she’d win back his affections with a new, brightly-coloured cloak...’ Dottie said.

  ‘Well he’d only see it if they went out, and he was on his own when you found him, so... Besides we’ve been told they didn’t go in for socialising. Or at least, she didn’t.’

  ‘Do you think he really was with another woman? This young girl we’ve heard about? Perhaps he had already walked her home, or perhaps she was frightened of getting caught up in a scandal and when he was attacked, she ran away?’ Dottie asked.

  ‘Possibly. Some women can be that selfish. Personally if I was with a man and he was attacked, I would stay with him until help arrived.’

  ‘But what if he was a married man? What about your reputation?’ Dottie responded.

  ‘Hmm. Tricky. But then I wouldn’t carry on with a married man. Do you mind if we go straight home? I’m really not in the mood for any more shopping.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ve got all the bits and pieces I wanted. And my lovely fabric.’

  ‘Leave it with me and I’ll ask Mrs Green to get it made up for you.’

  *

  Sergeant Hardy felt a keen interest in how Susan Dunne would behave now that the first shock of her grief had begun to subside.

  As before, the large maid, still pale but no longer red-eyed, showed him into the drawing-room. Susan Dunne was seated as before at one end of the sofa, and Hardy couldn’t help wondering if she had been there for the whole of the intervening time. She too was remarkably composed, although her cheeks were their usual greyish white. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her back ramrod straight. She neither smiled nor greeted Hardy. Beside her sat a grey-haired man of a military bearing. He looked up as Hardy entered the room, and gave the sergeant a brief nod.

  Without preamble the gentleman said, ‘I hardly think this is necessary. My daughter is not well enough to be questioned. Perhaps the police would do better to press forward with their investigation into how this terrible business came about, rather than coming here upsetting a grief-stricken widow like this.’

  ‘I’m very sorry for the intrusion on Mrs Dunne’s grief, and I am extremely grateful for your forbearance in this matter. I would like to ask Mrs Dunne a few questions which I hope will enable me to proceed with my enquiries.’

  The man got to his feet as if preparing for a confrontation. ‘Your enquiries? I think not. The name of your superior officer, if you please.’

  With an inward sigh, Hardy told Mrs Dunne’s father the name of his chief superintendent, of the assistant chief constable and that of the chief constable.

  ‘Wait in the hall whilst I verify this.’ The angry ex-soldier marched into the hall and along the corridor. Somewhere in the back of the house, a door slammed.

  Possibly this might be his only chance, Hardy thought. He glanced at Mrs Dunne who still sat demurely clasping her hands together, her eyes fixed on the uninspiring brown carpet.

  ‘Mrs Dunne,’ Hardy began, keeping his voice soft and sympathetic, and taking a seat opposite her.

  She barely lifted her eyes to look at him. ‘The hall, Sergeant. If you please.’ The chill of her voice killed any sympathy he might have felt. Without another word he got up and went to stand in the gloomy hall. As he waited he noticed an intriguing and unusual picture of a woman clad in a gold-coloured cloak. He had a vague thought that it was one of the Pre-Raphaelite paintings he’d seen in a gallery once.

  It was almost half an hour before Hardy was called back into the drawing-room. He was not invited to sit, nor did he receive either apology for being kept waiting, or for the lack of courtesy. His temper was fairly put out by this time and it was with great effort that he achieved a neutral expression.

  Mrs Dunne’s father, also standing and trying to make the best of his extra inch or two, said in a stroppy voice, ‘Right. Let me get a few things clear. We are not about to be hounded by a jumped-up bobby with an axe to grind. I shall make a statement and you shall leave. Any further contact will be through my solicitor. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly so.’

  ‘Very well. The statement is simply this: my daughter has no knowledge of her husband’s whereabouts nor of the identity of his companions for the night in question. That is all we have to say.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Unfortunately, that is not what I wanted to ask.’

  Mrs Dunne’s father paused in the act of turning away; as far as he was concerned, the business was now concluded. The expression on his face made it clear he had no intention of responding.

  Hardy continued, ‘I’d like to know why you are acting this way. Surely Mrs Dunne and yourself are both keen to ensure justice is done, and want to help me to apprehend Mr Dunne’s killer. There have been no accusations, not even the slightest slur has been cast upon Mrs Dunne’s good name, so I am interested in knowing...’

  ‘I knew your father, Hardy. He was a fool and a coward, and if you think you can...’

  ‘Where was your husband going on the night he was killed, Mrs Dunne? Where had he been? Whom did he see in the evenings?’

  ‘How dare you! I’ve made our position perfectly clear. You have nothing more to do here. Kindly leave at once. I shall complain about your conduct at the highest level.’

  Hardy could see it was pointless. The father had worked himself up into a royal rage, and his daughter was icy and uncommunicative. He couldn’t arrest either of them for that, much as he would like to. Clearly he would get neither help nor information from father or daughter.

  ‘I am sure that you have ascertained that I am here with both the knowledge and the support of my superiors. Yet still you decline to be transparent. Therefore, I can now only assume that you are concealing some guilty knowledge. Your attitude and behaviour will be mentioned in my report, and you will find yourselves subjected to very careful scrutiny.’

  Forced to be content with that, Hardy turned and walked to the door. There may have been exclamations or admonishments, possibly even threats, but Hardy was aware only of a deep sense of relief as he opened the front door and went out into the cold winter air.

  Chapter Five

  It was only ten
o’clock but it had already been a very long Sunday for Sergeant Hardy. He had been up late the night before, mulling over the details of the crime. He had arrived early at his desk and had immediately typed up numerous reports regarding the victim, the circumstances of the crime, and his subsequent interviews with witnesses and related persons. He had read most of his colleagues’ reports of interviews with the guests at the Gascoignes’ party and their neighbours, and so far had found nothing of use to his enquiries. He was still feeling irked by his conversation the previous day with Inspector Longden. He didn’t quite know what to do about the inspector’s absence.

  At eight o’clock that morning he had gone to the mortuary and discussed the case with the police medical examiner, and had been told what kind of weapon had been used to perpetrate the crime. He made a note in his book to the effect that they were looking for a knife with a blade approximately eight and a half inches in length.

  ‘Looks like a perfectly ordinary kitchen knife, the wound revealed nothing remarkable, so I imagine that makes your job harder; could be any ordinary, long-bladed kitchen knife in any ordinary kitchen in the country,’ the medical examiner said.

  The mortuary assistant handed two brown paper bags to Hardy.

  ‘Is this everything he had on him?’ Hardy asked the medical examiner, who was busy scrutinising a tray of instruments.

  ‘Yes, quite literally. The large one underneath contains all his clothes and his shoes, and in the smaller one you will find all the personal items from his pockets, and also a watch and a signet ring. That’s the second bag the clothes have been in, the first one got so wet it tore, and so we tried to dry the clothes out a bit for you. Anything to help our colleagues in the police force.’

  Hardy thanked him with a grin, and turned to a table behind him and emptied the contents of the smaller bag out.

  The signet ring appeared to be a valuable one, gold, and with a fairly large diamond set in the centre of a smooth rectangle. Grooves radiating out from the diamond like the rays of the sun.