Mrs Pargeter 01; A Nice Class of Corpse

The other residents, all of whom appeared in the Admiral’s Dining Room, did not comment on Mrs Selsby’s absence. It was assumed that she was having a tray in her room. This practice was allowed, though most of the residents, eager to stress to Miss Naismith how ‘active’ they were, resorted to it infrequently. None of them wished even to hint at the social solecism of ill-health.

Colonel Wicksteed was always the first to finish breakfast. Although he ate more than any of the others, he shared Newth’s military conviction that one should not spend too long on the indulgence of the body, and so wolfed down his scrambled eggs and four slices of toast and marmalade at great speed.

Then, wiping his mouth with a table napkin, he rose to his strictly vertical position, picked up The Times, which had lain correctly unread beside his plate while he ate, and announced to the company, “Well, time and tide wait for no man, so I think it’s time I went to have a look at the tide.”

Since he made this witticism almost every morning before a long visit to the lavatory and a brisk ‘constitutional’ along the front, Miss Naismith knew that her cue to speak had come. She could not risk any of the residents being absent for the news and receiving their first information of the death from the arrival of the undertakers.

“Excuse me, I have an announcement to make.” She gestured to still Loxton, who had moved forward to remove the Colonel’s dirty plates, and Newth, who had just come in with a fresh pot of coffee.

“I very much regret to tell you that Mrs Selsby suffered an unfortunate accident during the night. She fell down the main stairs and has, I am afraid, passed on.” How bitterly Miss Naismith regretted that the English language did not possess an even more genteel euphemism for death.

The announcement prompted a ripple of reactions. Loxton let out a little scream; Mr Dawlish, perversely, emitted a high-pitched giggle. Mrs Mendlingham’s vague eyes came suddenly into sharp, troubled focus, and she dropped the tea cup that was half-way to her lips. Eulalie Vance, who somewhere in her much-vaunted past had been a Catholic, crossed herself instinctively; and on Miss Wardstone’s taut face appeared, briefly, an expression of sheer triumph. Lady Ridgleigh’s bony features set into the expression affected by the Queen at funerals of Commonwealth leaders, while Colonel Wicksteed said, “Oh, damned bad show.”

Into Mrs Pargeter’s clear blue eyes came a new thoughtfulness.

And the diarist, who of course was one of those present in the Admiral’s Dining Room, felt that really it had all gone off very well.

¦

“I will be out for lunch, Miss Naismith.”

“Oh?” The proprietress looked up from the desk in her Office, quickly forming the opinion that the red of Mrs Pargeter’s two-piece suit was, if not quite ‘strident’, at least ‘bold’. But once again the jewellery, yet another matching set, was real.

“Most of the residents do tend to take luncheon in the hotel, unless of course they are away visiting.”

“Yes. Well, I dare say I’ll take it plenty of times, but today I’m going out.”

Miss Naismith couldn’t be sure whether or not she detected a note of mockery in Mrs Pargeter’s echo of the word ‘take’.

“That is all right, isn’t it?”

“Of course, Mrs Pargeter. So long as you inform the staff that you will not be taking luncheon before eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“Which is exactly what I’m doing.”

“Yes, Mrs Pargeter. Though it is quite sufficient for you to inform the staff, as I say. Tell Newth or Loxton. There is no need to tell me. I often find myself very busy in the mornings. Particularly, of course, today, in view of the most unfortunate circumstances.”

“Yes.” Mrs Pargeter paused. “Is the body still here?”

Miss Naismith winced at the indelicacy of such directness. “The undertakers have not as yet arrived, no.”

“So where is it?”

This was really too much. “I really don’t think it necessary for such details to be known, Mrs Pargeter.”

The new resident shrugged. “Very well. Please yourself.”

Miss Naismith breathed deeply, then, with the strained smile of a lady at a tea party ignoring something a dog has done on the floor, asked, “And may I ask how you plan to spend your day, Mrs Pargeter?”

“Thought I’d have a wander round. See the delights of Littlehampton. I don’t know the town at all.”

“It’s not a large place. It won’t take you long to see it all. I mean, there’d be plenty of time to see a bit, come back here for luncheon, and then continue your tour in the afternoon.”

“Yes, I’m sure there would. But I just feel like going out for lunch today.”

“Very well.” Miss Naismith took in another deep breath. Mrs Pargeter’s decision upset her disproportionately. New guests should devote some time to studying the routines of the Devereux; once they had done that, then it was quite permissible for them to diverge from those routines, but not until after a few days’ acclimatisation. Miss Naismith tried to find a way of expressing her disapproval, but all she could come up with was: “I’m afraid you may find the weather a little inclement.”

“I’ll survive.” Mrs Pargeter grinned. “See you.”

Miss Naismith thought perhaps something really should be said. “I think you will find in time that the Devereux suits you very well, Mrs Pargeter. I’m sure we’ll soon get used to each other’s little ways.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Pargeter, pausing at the Office door. “I’m sure you will.”

¦

Mrs Pargeter looked less perky as she ate her lunch. She had, as promised, examined the delights of Littlehampton, and found them much to her taste. It was a pleasingly tacky town. Mrs Pargeter liked the evidence of new vulgarity slowly swamping a former gentility. Yes, she could happily live there.

But she did not smile as she sat over excellent fish and chips in an empty riverside cafe looking out at the rushing brown water of the Arun estuary. There was something on her mind other than the suitability of her new home.

She could not forget the noises she had heard in the night at the Devereux.

She could not help speculating about the cause of Mrs Selsby’s death.

And she could not prevent those speculations moving inexorably to the conclusion that it had not been accidental.

? A Nice Class of Corpse ?

9

Mrs Pargeter returned to the Devereux for tea, arriving at almost exactly the same time as she had the day before. The afternoon was growing dark and bleak, with that peculiar melancholy of a seaside resort out of season. The wind swooped restlessly, setting up ripples of rattling among the shutters of the sea-front kiosks.

But Mrs Pargeter did not feel cold. She had always been a good walker, and she had kept moving most of the time. Her calves ached a little from the exertion, but generally she felt pleased with her day. She had found her bearings in Littlehampton. She now knew where the Devereux stood in relation to the sort of services she was bound to need – newsagent, bank, chemist, hairdresser, public telephone, car rental agency, betting shop. Increasingly the conviction grew that she had found the right place – at least for the time being.

She was also increasingly intrigued by what she now thought of as Mrs Selsby’s murder. And she thought what an attractive project for an elderly person with time on her hands would be finding out who had committed that murder.

¦

Loxton’s memory for the minutiae of her job was excellent, and Mrs Pargeter’s tray arrived at her table with a pot of strong Indian tea. Mrs Pargeter poured herself a cup in silence and listened to the conversations around her. She had decided that listening was going to be her most effective method of investigation.

“Sad business, sad business,” observed Colonel Wicksteed, after a swallow of his own strong Indian brew.