Mary tossed her head.
‘Mentioned it, and then not a word more to say, except that he’d be busy on account of somebody coming down from Scotland Yard. No, it was that Mrs Stokes that works for the Grahams. I met her when I was out doing my shopping and – it wasn’t her day with them, they only have her once a week, but she seemed to know all about it. She’s one of those talkers – makes it her business to know everything. And there I was with Ted on the job and I didn’t know the first thing about it except that it had happened. I’m sure I don’t know what she thought – nor what I felt like.’
Miss Cotton administered a lecture. Mary was a good girl, but she was new to being a policeman’s wife. If Ted Sharp didn’t talk about his business it was no more than what was expected of him, and she ought to be proud of him and not go about pulling a long face. Tittle-tattling and talking to gossips like Mrs Stokes wasn’t at all the way to help him to get on – ‘And don’t you forget it, my dear.’
When Mary left, Miss Cotton walked back with her, said good-bye at the corner of the road, and then instead of returning along the way that they had come, she took the bus down into the town and got out at the police station.
TWENTY
TED SHARP AND the Scotland Yard Inspector came knocking at Miss Cotton’s door next day. They had rung up, and she was fitting them in between the Thomas twins and old Mrs French’s back. Her cottage really was a cottage, standing much farther back from the road than the new council houses on either side of it, with a long narrow garden full of autumn flowers in front, and cabbages, Brussels sprouts and artichokes behind. There was a living-room and a kitchen on the ground floor, and two bedrooms above. Between the two wars a bathroom and a lavatory had been built up at the back. The front door opened directly into the living-room, which had a round table in the middle, an easy chair on either side of the fire-place, a corner-cupboard, and four chairs with their backs against the wall. There was a teapot and sugar basin, four cups and saucers and a milk-jug in copper lustre with a bright blue band and a pattern of raised fruits, in the corner-cupboard. And there was a vase with ‘A present from Margate ’ on it in the middle of the mantelpiece. It was full of bronze and yellow chrysanthemums, and so was the blue and white ginger jar on the table. The other things on the mantelpiece were a framed photograph of Mary Sharp in her wedding dress balanced on the other side by a snapshot of her at her christening, and at one corner one of those large shells flushed with pink, and at the other the reproduction of a woman’s hand in brass. It was about three inches long, and extremely elegant, with a ring on the third finger, and it was polished to the colour of pale gold. Everything in the room was as neat as a new pin, including Miss Cotton herself in a cheerful blue uniform with a white collar. She had a lot of grey hair, very blue eyes, and a hat worn rather on the back of her head.
She received them with composure, told them she was fitting them in, and came straight to the point with,
‘You’ve come about a statement I made last night.’
Ted Sharp said yes, they had. After which he said, ‘This is Detective Inspector Abbott from the Yard,’ and left it to him.
They sat round the table. Frank Abbott took out the paper which was Miss Cotton’s signed statement and laid it down in front of him. Then he said in his leisurely cultured voice,
‘I believe you made this statement last night, Miss Cotton.’
She sat there very composed with her grey hair, her blue eyes, and her cheeks like rosy apples. She said,
‘My niece was here to tea with me. She told me Mrs Graham had been murdered in the night at No. 1 Belview Road and I thought it was my duty to call in at the station and say what I knew about it.’ Then, as the colour came flooding up under Ted Sharp’s brown skin, she made haste to add, ‘My niece is Mrs Sharp, as I suppose Ted here has told you, but it wasn’t from him that she got anything she could tell me about the murder, it was from that Mrs Stokes that works at the Grahams’. And a real busy talker she is!’
Ted Sharp’s colour subsided. He didn’t look at her, but he was grateful in his heart. If he had ever thought that Mary ran round too much to her Auntie Ag, he took it back.
Frank Abbott went on.
‘Well, Miss Cotton, we are grateful to you. Now will you just forget about this statement and tell me the whole thing all over again in your own words?’
She gave him a quick appreciative nod.
‘They change things a bit when they write them down, don’t they? I told the young man that was writing it, and he didn’t like me saying what I did – said I needn’t sign it if I didn’t want to. But there wasn’t anything exactly wrong if you know what I mean, only it wasn’t just the way I’d have put it myself, so I signed it and came away.’
His smile had a humanizing effect upon the inherited features.
‘I know. Well now, suppose we have it just the way it comes.’
‘It began with Mr Burford calling me up. It’s a first baby and I thought it would be a false alarm, but of course you never can tell. I wasn’t undressed, which was a bit of luck, so I just had to get into my out-of-door shoes and put on my coat and hat and come away. I got my bicycle out of the shed and rode it until I came to the steep part of Hill Rise. It’s not worth riding to the top – takes more out of you than it saves you – so I got off and walked. Being a stranger, I don’t know if you know how the roads go, but Hill Rise runs into Belview Road just beyond the top of the hill, and No. 1 Belview Road is the corner house. The garden runs back along Hill Rise right to the top, and that’s where I was just going to get on to my bicycle again, when someone called out on the other side of the hedge.’
‘Man, or woman?’
‘It was Miss Graham. She called out, “Mother!” ’
‘How do you know it was Miss Graham?’
Miss Cotton maintained her composure.
‘Oh, I’ve nursed there more than once when Mrs Graham took a notion that she was going to die and they couldn’t get anyone else.’
‘All right, go on.’
‘There’s a sort of summerhouse at the top of the garden not so far from the hedge, and that’s where they were. There was a man’s voice that said, “Mrs Graham…” and I could hear her catching her breath. There’s quite a slope on that garden, and she never would walk up it, so I wondered what she was doing there. She got her breath and called out, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey – how dare you!” Miss Graham was trying to quiet her down.
She told her she would make herself ill, and Mrs Graham called out, “You wouldn’t care if I died! You wouldn’t care if you killed me! You only think about yourself!” Mr Carey said he was sorry but she wouldn’t let him come to the house, and he had to see Miss Graham. He called her Allie – her name is Althea, you know. He said he would go away and come back and talk to her in the morning. Mrs Graham was properly worked up, crying and carrying on. She said he mustn’t come and she wouldn’t see him if he did. She told Miss Graham to send him away – said she couldn’t stand it – “He’ll kill me – send him away!” ’ She paused and said with a shade of embarrassment, ‘It doesn’t sound very good me standing and listening like that, but it all seemed to happen so quickly, and if she had worked herself into an attack they might have been glad of my help. I didn’t feel I could just ride on and leave them.’
‘No, of course not, Miss Cotton. Please go on.’
‘Miss Graham said something about getting her back to the house. I didn’t catch it all, but I think she was asking Mr Carey to help her, because Mrs Graham called out, “No – no! Don’t dare to touch me – don’t dare!” After that I could just hear Miss Graham’s voice, but I couldn’t hear what she said, only at the end there was something about getting her mother to bed and making her comfortable. And that was all, except that I heard them going off down the garden together, and Miss Graham was having her work cut out.’