‘Are you finished with the telephone, madam?’ she said. ‘Only I’ve to sweep the hall.’
‘It’s Miss Brown, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Mary, madam,’ she said. ‘I’m only a parlour maid.’
‘But it’s Mary Brown,’ I persisted.
‘Yes, m’m,’ she said.
‘Well, Mary, I don’t know how much of my conversation you overheard while you were standing there,’ I said, ‘but make no mistake, I shall take a very dim view if any of it gets up the hill to your aunt at the school.’
‘Oh no, m’m,’ she said, colouring deeply and clasping her hands in front of her.
‘I shan’t scruple to inform your employers and I shan’t be content until I know you’re not in a position to carry tales again.’
‘No, no really, m’m,’ she said. ‘It’s not me. I mean, yes, Mrs Brown is my auntie, but it’s my sister, you mean. Kitchen maid. Her and Auntie Belle are as thick as thieves. I’m not- I mean, it’s Elsie you mean and I don’t tell her nothin’.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ I said, and with one last bob the poor girl scuttled off into the back regions, presumably to fetch her brushes. I stood and stretched and made for the foot of the stairs, but was arrested by the sight of the widow, with her companion beside her, halfway up the first flight, looking down on me. She was holding the younger woman back with one arm thrown out.
‘Threatening the little maid now, is it?’ she said. ‘You need a doctor, not a policeman.’
‘I see that your companion has more breeding than you, madam,’ I said, nodding at how the widow’s arm was blocking the way. ‘She clearly understands that one should make one’s presence known when one intrudes upon a private conversation, not lurk at the turn in the stairs, eavesdropping.’
‘And would you say eavesdropping,’ said the widow, flushing, ‘is a bad habit, a crime or a sin, Mrs Gilver?’ She half-turned to the other who was squirming with embarrassment. ‘I told you, Enid. She’s without any shame.’
‘Eavesdropping,’ I said, ‘is a window on a flawed moral character but too tawdry to dwell upon. Blackmail, now… Blackmail is much more serious.’
‘Blackmail!’ said the widow.
‘Strictly, I suppose, just the first careful step towards it.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ said the widow, while her companion shifted from foot to foot and whimpered ineffectually at her elbow.
‘Only with exposure,’ I said. ‘Do you deny it?’
‘Blackmail now!’ said the widow. ‘Slander and libel and lying and blackmail. You’re not safe to be out amongst decent people! Come on, Enid. Let’s go. I need some fresh wholesome air.’
At the police station, to my disappointment, it was Sergeant Turner who came to see who had crossed the threshold and caused the bell to ring.
‘Mrs Gilver,’ he said, in the tone one would use to say ‘burst water mains’ or ‘flat tyre’.
‘Sergeant Turner!’ I said, trying to sound as one would saying ‘rising stock prices’ or ‘sunshine forecast’. ‘I was wondering if there was any news in the hunt for Miss Lipscott. I have some evidence to add to what we know of her disappearance.’
‘There you go again, madam,’ he said. ‘We-ing. We, the police, might not choose to share anything we know with you, the general public.’
‘Well, Sergeant,’ I said, after a swift review of whether there was any reason not to tell him, now that I had given up trying to pass myself off as a mistress at St Columba’s, ‘we – Mr Osborne and I – are not the general public, exactly. We’re private detectives. And we’ve worked with policemen before.’
‘Private detectives?’ said Sergeant Turner and, if I had to supply another phrase to suit the tone this time, ‘amoebic dysentery’ would be near the head of the queue.
‘Two things, Sergeant,’ I said, sailing on. ‘Miss Lipscott did not take her bags with her when she left. They were packed and yet she didn’t pick them up. If she left of her own accord and under her own steam it’s safer to say that she fled than simply moved on.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sergeant Turner and did not utter another syllable.
‘Also,’ I said, ‘I can tell you now with complete certainty that the body at the cable station – or wherever she is now – is not Jeanne Beauclerc.’
He dearly wanted to issue another bland thank you such as the police give to the general public who offer information, but he also wanted to disparage my contribution and after a struggle that urge won.
‘We knew that,’ he said. ‘Two mistresses from the school said it wasn’t her.’
‘Still,’ I said, ‘a faceless handless corpse… whereas I can confirm it for sure.’
‘How?’ said Sergeant Turner, after another brief struggle.
‘Oh good, let’s share our information after all,’ I said. ‘Good show.’
What, I wondered, was wrong with me this morning? I had gone after the poisonous widow like a Jack Russell terrier and now here I was antagonising the police sergeant too.
‘It’s not a question of sharing, Mrs Gilver,’ said the sergeant. ‘It’s a question of withholding – unless you answer my question. And withholding desired information from the police is a very serious matter.’
‘And is it desired, Sergeant?’ I said. I could not seem to help myself. ‘I thought you knew already that the body wasn’t Miss Beauclerc. What information do I have, to withhold or not?’
He glared at me for a moment and then looked over his shoulder and barked for the constable. Reid popped his head out of a door.
‘Deal with this, laddie,’ said Turner. ‘I’ve got more to be doing than wasting time with a lot of…’ He waved a hand and withdrew into the back premises well away from my nonsense. I turned down the corners of my mouth and flashed my eyes at Reid but he regarded me with a very stony expression.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘What’s what?’ said Reid.
‘Something’s wrong,’ I said.
‘Nowt wrong wi’ me,’ said Reid, but like his sergeant he lost the struggle with his better self. ‘What did you say to-’ He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. ‘What did you say to Cissie on Sunday?’
‘Many things,’ I replied. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s sent me a wee note this mornin’ wi’ Tam Ramsay the baker, sayin’ she won’t see me tonight.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘It’s Tuesday, isn’t it? Your night for walking and – em – sitting. Well, possibly Cissie doesn’t feel the same about the Dunskey Castle cliffs since she had to think about someone plunging off them.’
‘Aye but it’s no’ just that she doesn’t want to go a walk,’ said Reid. ‘We sometimes go to the Empire in Stranraer. She disnae want to see me at all. What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’ I thought hard about our conversation. ‘I swear to you, William. Absolutely nothing. I’m sure all that’s wrong is that she’s unnerved by the talk of bodies and strangers and people watching. She’ll come round again. But listen, I’ve come to ask how the search is going for Miss Lipscott and also to tell you something.’
Quickly, I rehashed the tale of Fleur being packed and ready to go and yet leaving her bags behind her. He stared at me for a moment and I thought he might say another quelling thank you just as the sergeant had done, but he was made of finer stuff and had a sharper wit any day.
‘Why were her bags packed?’ he asked.
‘Because she had been planning to go already,’ I said. ‘Quite elaborately planning. She and Miss Beauclerc were going to go together. Only Beauclerc fled too. A few days before the plan was ready to be executed.’