A Short Time to Live (Miss Pink Book 4) Read online

  ‘I take it,’ Miss Pink put in, ‘that you mean they’re bad drivers as opposed to non-drivers.’

  Arabella grinned. ‘I exaggerate,’ she said carelessly. ‘Oh, this gorgeous lady can drive after a fashion, and one can forgive a lot, that is, until she hits one of our sheep, or a person on Storms’ bend.’ She shuddered.

  ‘What is her relationship to Mr Harper?’

  ‘Oh, she couldn’t be his wife!’

  ‘His daughter?’

  ‘Why, that never occurred to me. You’ll think we’re obsessed with sex in Sandale, but we all thought . . . Of course, that’s far more reasonable. Poor George, what would he have to attract this kind of girl? I don’t mean to be rude but she is lovely and she wears the most gorgeous clothes.’ She looked down at her skirt. ‘No matter what I pay for an outfit, I can never look elegant. My mother does, and so does Lucy Fell; it’s a matter of height. This lady at Burblethwaite is built like a racehorse: all legs and a small head and a beautiful mane of chestnut hair. I saw her walking up the outrake before they went driving this morning. She moves like a model. Probably that’s what she is.’

  ‘And how long is she here for?’

  ‘No one knows. No one knows anything. She arrived some days ago and since then they’ve gone out in her car in the mornings and not come back till after dark. George creeps across for the milk and Zeke’s far too gentlemanly to ask questions. I go down for the milk but I’m sure George hides round the corner until I’ve gone. The girl hasn’t crossed the bridge to our side since she’s been here, except in her car, and they never stop. And George gives a feeble grin and kind of contracts inside his sheepskin as if he’s embarrassed. I guess that’s why we thought it was a sexual relationship.’

  ‘How many people are there in this hamlet?’

  ‘Besides us and George Harper, there’s Lucy Fell at Thornbarrow, and above the green there’s Coneygarth which is ours and is let to a guy called Jackson Wren—’ her face was momentarily blank. ‘It’s Lucy who’s friendly with Denis Noble. He makes pet food and Zeke says he’s not doing so well. He’s got a house just above the Throat and his wife is an alcoholic so we don’t see much of her.’

  ‘Your uncle said Peta Mossop was drunk at Lucy Fell’s house on the evening before she died. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘Yes, well, Zeke leaves out the best gossip so there are big gaps. Peta had an affair with Denis. I can’t think why; he’s old enough to be her grandfather and they’d known each other for years; you wouldn’t think there was much mystery left. Anyway, Lucy gave a party—in September, wasn’t it Gran?—and Peta seduced Denis. After that and for several weeks they had a wild affair and then they cooled it, just like that. Denis and Lucy went away to London last week and came back and then they started their little Friday night dinners again (everyone knew about it; all very comic opera), and Peta walked in on them. Now you ask me, I don’t know what the scene was about—if there was a scene. It couldn’t have been anything important. Perhaps the inspector told Zeke, or Lucy did. Did he say, Gran?’

  ‘Peta was getting telephone calls.’

  ‘Oh those!’ Arabella turned back to Miss Pink. ‘She had a breakdown three years ago and she said she had telephone calls then. Afterwards she said she made it up. This was the same kind of thing.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Why, it must have been. It was obvious she’d gone over the edge again: imagining nasty people threatening her on the phone. She was paranoid.’

  ‘But someone was threatening her.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Someone thought Peta was threatened,’ Miss Pink elaborated, ‘otherwise why write to your uncle saying so? In any case, it’s logical to assume she was being threatened, since she was murdered, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Six

  A fire of coal and birch logs burned in the room allocated to Miss Pink. The little iron grate was surrounded by tiles, each painted with a different wild flower. The wallpaper featured tiny floral sprigs, and the quilt was patchwork. Rag rugs covered the floor which was composed of huge and slightly undulating planks with iron studs for nails.

  She put out the light and went to the window. After some minutes her eyes became accustomed to the dark but there were no other lights visible, only the suspicion of a glimmer down on the right where, she suspected, Rumney attended Penelope.

  She felt curiously at a loose end and wondered, as Arabella had wondered, where she should begin; particularly since the beginning was farther back than the finding of Peta’s body. Anonymous letters were more Miss Pink’s style than sheep stealing, which was really Rumney’s department. The murder was a police matter; she was hardly in a position to grill people for forty-eight hours, as was supposed to have happened to Mossop. So her focal point should be the letters, or rather, the letter, for only Rumney’s was a fact; if his had been written by an unstable person, then those to which it referred could well be fantasy.

  She took it from her pocket. peta was getting anonymous letters. Good printing, concise and accurate. ‘Anonymous’ spelt correctly. The communication of a literate person and perhaps a cultured one. There appeared to be no attempt to disguise the hand, only the small gesture of capitals instead of lower case, but surely a person intelligent enough to pen this statement would guess that printing could be traced?

  *

  ‘Who were Peta Mossop’s friends?’

  In Donegal tweed and a shirt in eau de nil, Miss Pink sipped Tio Pepe in Rumney’s office. Once the parlour, this was now utilitarian with an old rolltop desk holding letters, bills, copies of the Farmer’s Weekly and several editions of The Shepherd’s Guide.

  ‘I don’t know that she had any friends,’ Rumney said slowly. ‘The police asked who disliked her, which seems more to the point. Friends. Let’s think about it. There’s Noble, of course; the police questioned him for a long time, although not as long as Mossop. Noble could have felt bad about the way he’d treated her but that wouldn’t make him feel friendly towards her; irritation would be more his attitude. As for Lucy Fell: she must have hated Peta; Peta was the opposition: the younger woman challenging the establishment. Jackson Wren? He had nothing to do with her.’ His mouth snapped shut and Miss Pink didn’t comment. After a while he took a deep breath. ‘You’ve hit on something,’ he admitted—as if she’d spoken after all, ‘in fact, Wren is the real reason that I asked you to come to Sandale.’ She nodded; she’d thought that the invitation was odd and that subsequent explanations kept something back. ‘Wren knew my sheep were missing before I told him,’ Rumney went on, ‘and he was embarrassed when I picked him up on it. But that exchange occurred the moment before we came across Peta’s body, and I’ve not mentioned it since. I wasn’t happy about the situation. Arabella’s keen on the fellow, d’you see. She says it’s over, but you know these youngsters. . . . I’d like to think it’s over, even without the sheep business, but I can’t be sure. He wants to start a pony trekking centre but he’s got no money; Arabella’s attraction for him is financial. But there, you must judge when you see him—and perhaps Arabella will talk to you; she’s very subdued over it with us. But there’s something odd about Wren; he’s shifty. He’s a local man but he’s been away from the valley for a long time. He’s a drifter: one of those who can turn his hand to anything, but won’t; lazy and more than a bit greedy but, as I said, you must judge.’

  ‘Short cuts are necessary sometimes,’ she murmured. ‘How does he come to be occupying your cottage?’

  He looked rueful. ‘He convinced me that he was hardworking and ambitious. He’d live there rent-free, he said, and modernise the place: put in a ring main, dig drains, build a septic tank. Eventually he would lease land from me for grazing his ponies.’ Rumney shook his head. ‘He’s glib; that’s how he fascinated Arabella: with talk, but she’s got to find out about him the hard way.’

  ‘Why haven’t you given him notice to quit?’

  ‘He’s only been at Co
neygarth a few months; before I’d got his measure Arabella arrived from the States and took to him immediately. If I’d sent him packing then, she’d have gone with him—Mother saw that. But he knows my patience is wearing thin, and now may be the time to do something about it except that I don’t know how things stand between him and Arabella.’

  ‘I wouldn’t give him notice at the moment if I were you. So you think there might be a connection between him and Mossop where the sheep stealing’s concerned?’

  He didn’t answer directly. ‘It’s very involved and unpleasant. You see, Mossop’s wife had an affair with Denis Noble, and he was associating with Lucy; it’s all a matter of criss-crossed lines—and then Wren was the last person to see Peta alive—’ He checked. ‘No, I don’t mean that; the killer was the last person, but Wren saw her after she left Thornbarrow: saw her near the bottom of Storms’ drive, staggering in the lane as if she were drunk.’

  ‘What time did he see her?’ She forgot that she’d thought of the murder as a police matter.

  ‘He says some time after ten-thirty; she was just this side of Storms. He was coming home from an evening’s drinking in Carnthorpe and he was alone.’

  ‘Did the autopsy manage to come anywhere near the time of death?’

  ‘The pathologist wouldn’t commit himself but he said she was probably dead before three o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘And Wren saw her alive at ten-thirty.’

  ‘That’s what he says. But you were asking me about her friends.’

  ‘Did George Harper know her?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. I only saw them together once, and by that I mean in the same room; that was at Lucy’s party in September when Peta concentrated in a rather embarrassing fashion on Noble. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m trying to work through everyone—or at least, the Sandale residents. This girl who’s staying at Burblethwaite: she arrived after Peta’s death?’

  ‘Yes. Peta was killed on Friday night or Saturday morning. Harper’s guest arrived last Tuesday, the day of the inquest.’

  She put her head on one side and blinked. Rumney thought she looked a trifle stupid and wondered if his friend Roberts had been misled concerning her abilities.

  ‘Everyone seems to know about the affair between Noble and Peta,’ she remarked. ‘Did they know at the time?’

  ‘Oh, bound to have done; you can’t hide those things in a community of this size. Peta used to catch the afternoon bus to Carnthorpe and come back in the small hours. Mossop joked about it with his cronies in the bar but he didn’t name Noble. Jackson Wren drinks at Storms, and he told Arabella what Mossop was saying. Peta must have met Noble in Carnthorpe and he would have brought her home in his car. You can’t hope to hide a thing like that.’

  ‘What was Mrs Noble’s reaction?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. She didn’t look stupid now. ‘One doesn’t see much of Sarah,’ he elaborated, ‘I doubt if I’ve seen her for weeks and, frankly, I can’t imagine Sarah confiding in any of us. She rambles, she talks wildly at times, but she isn’t the kind of alcoholic who sobs on your shoulder—oh no, Sarah can be very close.’

  ‘And the Brights?’

  ‘Quentin was her doctor. He’s a conscientious chap; he was very upset at the inquest: a face on him like a stone. Yes, Quentin was well-disposed towards her; more, he’d feel guilty.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why would he feel guilty? Because she was killed.’

  ‘He’d think he failed her?’

  ‘Just failed. Failed somewhere. He blames himself for too much that goes wrong with his patients. He’s a good friend of mine.’ There could have been a warning in his voice.

  ‘Tell me where he thought he failed in this case.’

  He sighed and shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. He filled their glasses from the decanter.

  ‘There’s something telepathic here,’ he told her, ‘because I can’t give any explanation. I know he feels guilty.’ He glanced at her quickly. ‘You do realise I’m not referring to any form of direct guilt?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘A sin of omission,’ he went on, reassured. ‘Apparently Peta was hysterical when she went to Thornbarrow that Friday night, and Wren says she was weaving across the road. It’s assumed she was drunk; there was quite a high level of alcohol in the blood—’

  ‘Any barbiturates or anything like that?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Just a point. Of elimination.’

  ‘Quentin felt he should have kept a closer eye on her. Funny thing your asking about barbiturates; he was prescribing sleeping tablets but she wouldn’t tell him the trouble. He didn’t know she had a problem but he felt that she had. Of course, anyone who can’t sleep has a problem: insomnia’s only a symptom. He thinks he should have probed deeper, that’s how I see it.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that there was a connection between the problem which was the cause of her insomnia and her death.’

  ‘Am I? I wasn’t suggesting that consciously but it could be how Quentin’s mind is working.’

  ‘Was there anything between them—an affair for example?’

  ‘Oh no. No. She was promiscuous certainly; no one was safe from her. She even propositioned me at one time!’ He looked sheepish. ‘She would have tried to seduce Quentin; one accepted that she’d make a play for any fellow who crossed her path, but Quentin’s life was far too full for anything like that. Besides, Amy Bright would stop it before it got off the ground—and Quentin’s no Denis Noble. There, d’you see, you have a weak silly fellow who was flattered. Quentin has no vanity.’

  ‘Was Amy Bright a friend of Peta?’

  ‘She was affable in public, but Amy is always the same to everyone: courteous and correct—’

  Beyond the closed door a telephone was ringing. It stopped and they heard the modulations of Arabella’s voice. They drank sherry and after a moment the door opened and the girl looked in. She was wearing black crepe with frills at the throat and she looked like an astonished marmoset.

  ‘Lucy Fell!’ she breathed. ‘She wants us to go over when we’ve had supper. Guess who’s coming! George Harper and his lady friend!’

  ‘He didn’t say anything.’ Rumney was puzzled. ‘He was across for the milk and he ran back home like a scalded cat as if he couldn’t leave his visitor alone for longer than two minutes.’

  ‘Lucy must have been watching; she’ll have rung Burblethwaite when the lady was on her own and she accepted for both of them. Now George has got to present her to us. And Lucy says we have to come too because the girl’s going to be a bore. Can’t think what she means.’

  ‘Well, that’s no reason—’ Rumney started to protest, then saw a way out. ‘I’ve got Penelope—’

  ‘You’ve changed, Uncle Zeke; you’re not delivering a cow in your Sunday suit.’

  ‘I’m changing back after supper. You can go; come back and tell us all about it.’

  ‘I shall go too,’ Miss Pink said pleasantly.

  ‘I did ask.’ Arabella was eager. ‘She said you were very welcome. I’ve prepared the ground.’ She was conspiratorial.

  ‘What did you say?’ Rumney was sharp.

  She sparkled at them. ‘I warned her that she might find Miss Pink a bit dull too. Is that what I should have said?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Miss Pink said with approval. ‘That should do very well indeed.’

  Chapter Seven

  Supper was gammon baked with prunes, and a blue Cheshire and an excellent port. Miss Pink, regarding the Rumney family with additional respect, caught Arabella’s eye and saw that the respect was mutual.

  ‘Lucy fancies herself as a cook,’ the girl said as they walked down to Thornbarrow. ‘I’m warning you because I see you’re a gourmet, and gourmets aren’t dull. I guess it would be better if you were a mutton and boiled potatoes buff.’

  ‘That would be extreme; fish pie perhaps, and parsley sauce.’

/>   ‘Yuk,’ said Arabella in the dark, leading the way under a gable-end and through a gateway. It was a mild night, and distant sounds, like water and a curlew’s wail, were muffled, as if the cloud were down.

  The girl lifted a latch and walked into the house, calling their hostess’s name. Miss Pink followed, shutting the door, peering at the stone slabs in the passage, at the firelight reflected from oak and pewter in the dim main room. A woman appeared in the opposite doorway and turned on more lights.

  Lucy Fell wore grey flannel: a safari jacket and a skirt flared to the ankles, and under it a white polo-necked sweater. The only colour—and it was startling—came from the rings on her large brown hands. Miss Pink was taken aback. Arabella had not prepared her for a beautiful woman, but as they made conversation and moved towards the fire, she saw that the fascination of Lucy Fell came less from good bones or fine clothes, or jewels that were fabulous for Sandale, but from a repressed excitement not only in the woman’s eyes but in her voice, even in her movements. She seemed tense and fierce.

  Miss Pink asked the date of the bread cupboard and watched the other’s hands. They rested tranquil in her lap. She lied smoothly concerning her own presence in the dale and Lucy said that she couldn’t think of any cottages for sale right at the moment. Miss Pink asked how long she had lived here and learned that Edward Fell had been in the Army and that the Fells came here four years ago when they retired after his last spell of duty in Cyprus. He had survived retirement for only one year. Lucy agreed that it had been a tragedy.

  Arabella turned the pages of Vogue, Miss Pink beamed at the fire and Lucy said suddenly: ‘I assume they’ll come.’