The Paying Guests(122)

‘Spring cleaning? Turning things out, drawers and boxes?’

Why had he seized on that? ‘I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so.’

‘And the husband? He seemed quite himself to you, the last time you saw him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you say he was the type of man to make enemies?’

‘Enemies? No, I wouldn’t say that.’

‘You remember the assault, back in July?’

‘Yes, very well.’

‘You were at home that night, while Mrs Barber was at her party?’

She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she had been at the party too. She answered vaguely. ‘I saw the injury directly it had happened.’

‘You saw the actual injury? Bad, was it? Was a doctor called?’

‘No, it wasn’t as bad as all that. A bleeding nose, black eyes. A lot of blood on the kitchen floor, but – No, it wasn’t so very bad. My mother and I sorted it out. Mr Barber came here, a day or two later, to report it.’

‘He told you that, did he?’

‘Yes, he told me on the Monday or the Tuesday. He said he’d spoken to a – a sergeant, I believe he said.’

The inspector grew thoughtful and confiding. ‘Now, I wonder why he did that. No report was ever filed, you see, Miss Wray. We had complaints from one or two of your neighbours, but from Mr Barber himself – not a peep. Can you imagine why that might have been?’

Genuinely bewildered now, Frances gazed into his smooth, bank-manager’s face; and couldn’t answer.

And then she jumped, at the sounds of a commotion out in the corridor: it took her a moment to separate the noise from its own echoes and realise that it was made up mainly of women’s voices, Lilian’s among them. Sick with fear, she got to her feet; Sergeant Heath rose at the same time. She followed him out into the passage – and saw Lilian, a few yards along it, sagging almost to the floor, being supported by her mother and her sister Vera. They had just arrived at the police station, Matron Wrigley came to explain. Lilian had seen them, gone running to them, and fainted in their arms.

They got her back into the warm room, put her in the chair beside the fire. The matron stirred sal volatile into a glass of water and held it to her lips. She turned her head from the tumbler with a moan, then opened her eyes and looked in terror at the faces ringed around her. Then she burst into tears.

‘There, there,’ said Mrs Viney shakily. ‘There, now.’

She had one of Lilian’s hands in hers and was madly patting it. Her face had its stripped, lashless look. She stared around the room as if stupefied herself; then she recognised Frances, and the corners of her mouth and button eyes turned down like those of a tragedy mask.

‘Oh, Miss Wray! Can you believe it?’

The matron began to try to move her back. ‘Stand off, please. Right off. We must give Mrs Barber some air.’

Lilian gripped her mother’s hand. ‘Don’t leave me, Mummy!’

‘Leave you?’ cried Mrs Viney. ‘No, indeed I shan’t!’

But her protests were cut across by a brisk knock at the door. A man entered the room – evidently the police doctor. He set his bag on the table and drew out a stethoscope. ‘A little privacy, please?’ he said, meeting no one’s eye as he spoke. And then, a moment later, in a tired bark of impatience: ‘Really, I can’t be expected to make any sort of examination with the place full of women like this.’

The matron succeeded in chivvying Mrs Viney, Vera and Frances from the room. ‘I shall be just out here, my darling!’ Mrs Viney called to Lilian, as the door was closed. But they were not allowed to wait in the corridor, no matter how much fuss she raised. They were shown down a flight of stairs to a public waiting-area noisy with voices and footsteps – another grim lobby, with a dozen poor-looking people in it, who lifted their heads at their approach, broke off their conversations, to stare at them in open curiosity.

Mrs Viney, in response, seemed to expand into the stares. A youth in a torn jacket gave up his chair so that she might sit, and she sank on to it in a grateful, unembarrassed way, saying, ‘Thank you, love. Thank you, son.’ She took out her handkerchief and wiped her lips. ‘Oh, my Lord. I can’t hardly believe it. I can’t credit it, Miss Wray! When the policeman stepped into the shop and I saw his face – well, it gave me such a turn. I made sure it was one of the grandchildren, burned in a fire or drowned. Then he said it was poor Lenny killed in an accident, and that we was to come here for Lil! Thank heavens you’ve been with her, anyhow. Oh, but don’t she look shocking, though! I should hardly have known her, she looks that dragged! What’s happened? Do you know? The police haven’t told us nothing. Only a blow to the head, they said. Was it a motor-car done it, or what?’

Frances was conscious of the other people in the lobby. She had not said the words yet, to anyone. When she spoke, her mouth felt rubbery.

‘They’re saying that someone might have killed him.’

‘What?’

And, ‘What?’ echoed Vera, her gaze sharpening. ‘Killed him? Len?’

‘Why would they say such a thing as that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Frances.

‘But who are they saying done it, and why?’

‘I don’t know.’