‘I couldn’t say. It would make a difference, of course, because the police would then have to prove that Redsey returned and finished off the job, and, from what I understand of the matter, it would be impossible to prove that.’
‘Could they – would they try to prove that?’
‘Well, I expect so. You see, the police seem to have a very strong case against Redsey. I’m afraid I don’t read the papers, so I am not at all clear how far the police theories have gone, but one hears things. . . . Look here, why don’t you go and tell what you know to the inspector? He’ll be able to advise you far better than I can.’
‘But what about Father? He’ll be furious when he knows what I’ve done!’
‘Well, you’ll have to face up to it. You didn’t do anything desperate, I suppose?’
He surveyed her quizzically.
‘I’ve brought up a daughter myself,’ he added, ‘so I know the sort of thing they get up to.’
‘I went into the Manor Woods to – to meet a man,’ confessed Margery, blushing furiously under her freckles and looking about ten years old.
‘The dickens you did!’ And the vicar grinned wickedly.
‘Yes. I don’t know what Father will say! He’s frightfully particular about – about things like that.’ To Margery, obviously, it was no grinning matter.
‘I see. Well, I’ll try and cope with him; but, even if I can’t mitigate his wrath, you must take comfort from the fact that you’ll be doing the right thing, and the big thing, in owning up like a sportsman. See?’
‘Yes,’ said Margery lugubriously. ‘What sort of view will the inspector take? I mean, will he be like you or – or pious and horrified, like Mother and Father?’
‘You’d better trot along and see,’ said the vicar seriously. ‘Oh, half a minute! Here comes Felicity, I think.’
He walked to the end of the passage, called her into the dining-room and said to her quite solemnly:
‘Child, have you ever been to the Manor Woods by night to meet a man?’
Felicity stared at him.
‘Well,’ pursued the vicar, ‘why did Margery Barnes go? She’s in my study, by the way. Perhaps you’ll go in to her.’
‘Margery? She never did! Little idiot! Who was the man?’
‘I don’t know who the man was,’ the vicar replied. ‘Will her father be very angry?’
‘She’s never going to tell Dr Barnes?’ cried Felicity, horrified.
‘Wouldn’t you tell me?’
Felicity kissed the top of his nose.
‘It’s rather different, silly. Dr Barnes will eat her! And that idiotic Mrs Barnes, who can’t pass a cow in the lane without wanting to squeal, will back him up when she returns from her holiday. But why is she going to tell him? I shouldn’t, if I were his daughter!’
‘She’s going to tell the inspector first.’
‘The inspector? What for? You know, sweetest, it’s rather morbid, I think – this passion for confessing one’s sins to all and sundry. By the way, do you know Mrs Bradley’s trying to find out all about – Oh, I say!’
Her grey eyes grew wide with surmise and fear. ‘It isn’t anything to do with the murder that poor little Margery –!’ Without staying to finish the sentence, she flew into the study. At the same instant, Mrs Bradley was announced at the front door. Felicity, who had had barely time to greet the doctor’s daughter, left Margery alone and went down into the hall.
‘Felicity,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘don’t you think it would be rather nice to take your Sunday-school class into Culminster and show them the cathedral? And the market cross? And the museum? So interesting for the dear children.’
‘Yes, I know,’ replied Felicity, puckering her brow. ‘It would be interesting, and I’d love to take them, but their parents can’t afford the bus fare, and it’s too far to walk. And I can’t afford to pay for the dears,’ she added, ‘much as I’d like to do it.’
Mrs Bradley fumbled in her skirt pocket and drew out a large practical purse.
‘In the interests of their education,’ she said, opening it, ‘I hope I may be allowed to provide their fares.’ She pulled out a pound note. ‘And their teas.’ She pulled out another. ‘Sufficient? Good.’
She waved aside Felicity’s thanks.
‘Don’t encourage them to look at the case on the north wall of the museum. It contains, among other things, the model of a Roman shield, and, if you stand at the far end of the room opposite the door, half-close your eyes, and peer diligently behind that shield, you can see something extremely interesting. But do not show it to the children. I am very anxious for you to come, immediately upon your return, to my house and tell me what you have seen.’
Felicity looked mystified, but promised to obey.
‘And now,’ she said, ‘I’ve got Margery Barnes here with some tale or other which seems to be in connection with something which happened on the night of the murder. Shall I ask her whether she is willing for us both to hear it? She is in the next room.’
Margery, blushing but valiant, was willing, and Felicity conducted Mrs Bradley into the study.
‘You can all get out,’ said the vicar, who had returned to his den and wanted to get on with his sermon. ‘I’m busy. Go into the drawing-room. That’s the place for visitors!’
Settled in the drawing-room, Felicity turned to the younger girl.
‘Now then, Margery! What’s all this about your wild oats?’ she said lightly.
‘It was all through Father saying “Don’t”,’ began Margery. She sighed wistfully. ‘Your father never says “Don’t”. I’ve noticed that. And, if my father never said it, what a lot of things in the world I should never ache and yearn to do!’
She sighed again, glanced down and became aware of very dusty shoes. She cleaned them surreptitiously on her brown stockings and continued hastily:
‘The first time Father said “Don’t” about men was when Willie Bailey took me on the back of his motorcycle to Bossbury Fair. And we came home before it was anything like dark, so I don’t see why Father need have been so sniffy. It wasn’t as though Willie isn’t a perfectly nice boy! Anyway, Father said I wasn’t to meet Willie, or go with him anywhere ever any more. But, of course, I did. At school we were encouraged to be strong-minded and independent and to live our own lives, and I made up my mind that, if living my own life meant wanting to go out with perfectly decent or jolly clever men, I was going to do it! Well, it couldn’t be by day, openly and above-board, because Father had forbidden that. So it had to be at night. Well, it came to that Sunday night. You know the one I mean! I’d arranged to be at the Manor Woods at a quarter to nine. That was to give the people a chance to clear away from the church, because I would have to pass it, and I didn’t want to be seen. Well, it was all fairly easy that night, because Mother was on holiday – she’d gone away the day before, on the Saturday – and Father was going up to the major’s – at least, he said something about it, and he wasn’t at home when I came in from visiting old Mrs Hartley up at The Winnows – so, the coast being clear, I waited until twenty-five to nine and then I sneaked off. Well, I met him all right, although I felt rather scared. For one thing, I always had a dread that someone would see us, and tell Father, and then the Manor Woods always do frighten me, somehow – I think it’s that horrible Stone – I dream about it sometimes, and it’s always dripping with blood – and then, that night, he scared me too.’
Felicity felt her heart beginning to beat faster.