stitching and sat staring at her needle.
Noticing an electric kettle on a cupboard shelf, I asked if she would like me to make her some tea and, upon her ready acceptance, made a strong brew, which was how she said she liked it. Having found milk and sugar and a tin of biscuits, I set a loaded tray down on the table, from which she had now cleared her mending, before sitting back down with my own cup and saucer.
“Thanks, love. I was gasping for a cuppa.”
“You’re very welcome.” I took an invigorating sip. “Why do you think Lady Fiona reacted with more than usual concern to Mr. Gallagher’s most recent departure?”
“It was like this.” Mrs. Cake dipped a ginger biscuit into her tea. “There’d been a recent rash of burglaries in the area. I used to say to both of them they were asking for trouble with that outside door to the west wing always left unlocked. How much bother would it have been to get a new lock fitted? But they never got round to it. Neither have the Hopkinses, for that matter. Anyway, that night-the last night Mr. Gallagher was home-her ladyship went up to bed earlier than usual, with a headache. She gets them bad sometimes.”
“I can sympathize, having just had one.”
“There’d been some tension between them that day. The police asked me if there’d been anything wrong and I told them, there being no reason to hide it. Mr. Gallagher had tried several times that day to reach Mr. Scrimshank on the telephone. Each time he couldn’t get hold of him, he’d come into the kitchen and I’d hear his nerves jangling. Mr. Gallagher had been holed up in his study for the previous couple of days, so I guessed it had to do with business. I don’t know anything about stocks and bonds, except that sometimes they need to be bought or sold in a hurry, so that may have been it.”
“What about Lady Fiona? Do you think she knew why her husband was trying to contact Mr. Scrimshank?”
“I’m sure she didn’t, because the one time she came into the kitchen when he was there telling me he still wasn’t having any luck with phoning, he changed the subject right quick. Wants to surprise her with the good news that there’s a windfall in the offing, was what I hoped. As the day went on, it could be he saw a golden opportunity slipping away, because it was clear he was getting tense and finally irritable, which wasn’t like him at all-there never being an easier-going man. Floated aloft he did, as a rule, just like her ladyship. It ended with them having words, which I don’t remember them doing before. I’m sure that’s what gave her ladyship the headache that sent her to bed about eight o’clock.”
“Did you tell that to the police about the argument?”
“I’m not one for causing trouble, but there wasn’t any reason not to.” Mrs. Cake set down her teacup and picked up another piece of mending. “Lady Fiona would have told them herself. There was nothing to it. Just Mr. Gallagher carrying on about his clean socks. He always laid them out each evening, well before he went to bed- something Nanny Pierce had insisted upon when he was a child, I expect. I heard him grumbling about how he couldn’t find the pair he wanted, a sure sign he wasn’t himself, considering Mavis always put them away as tidy as you please, all in the same drawer that could be pulled out from here to next week for a good look. It was the blue-and-black Argyle pair he couldn’t find. And Lady Fiona lost her temper, if you could even call it that, she’s so mild. I remember thinking the upset with Nanny was what had them both on edge, but that they’d both forget about it if she’d ever let them, instead of bearing a grudge, which is her way. Always best to keep on Nanny’s good side has been my motto; that’s what I’ve told Mavis.” Mrs. Cake rethreaded her needle. “And that’s why I had your husband go down and ask Nanny for her scone recipe.”
“What about the burglaries?” I got up to pour her more tea.
“Thanks, love.” She picked up her cup. “It was like this, you see. There was a lot of nervousness about the houses that had been broken into over the previous few weeks. We’d never had much of that before. Anyway, there was a Mrs. Johnson living about half a mile from here at the time who always walked her dog this way around ten- thirty of an evening. A nice animal, a sheepdog.”
“I’ve seen a man walking a black-and-white one.”
“Probably the same. Mrs. Johnson recently moved in with her sister that owns the bed and breakfast on the corner by the traffic light where you turn onto the high street. Some of the guests enjoy taking Keeper for a walk. He’s named for Emily Bronte’s dog, Mrs. Johnson told me. Lovely animal. Anyway, on the night we’re talking about they stopped at the gate out front because the dog had to go, and Mrs. Johnson saw a man come running out of the house. Like his life depended on it, she said. She always carried a torch with her because the road isn’t well lit, but she only got a brief glimpse of him because he dodged around the shrubbery. She went straight home and rang the police, and they came round quick as a wink, waking me and Lady Fiona up with their wailing sirens and flashing lights.”
“Was Mrs. Johnson able to describe the man?” I set down my cup and saucer.
“She said she thought he had gray hair, but it could have been fair, and perhaps she had leaped to the other conclusion because she’d assumed the man was Mr. Gallagher, fleeing because of a problem inside. She imagined a fire or a gas leak. When the house was checked and him not in it, the thought was that there’d been another break- in and he’d surprised the burglar and gone chasing after him. Under those circumstances, her ladyship did get quite worked up-for her, that is. Even when Mr. Scrimshank got the phone call and the police accepted that Mr. Gallagher had gone off on another of his holidays, I could tell she wasn’t easy in her mind.”
“If that’s all there was to it, why would he have raced out of the house in the manner Mrs. Johnson described?”
“Police Sergeant Walters said that could’ve been the burglar.” Mrs. Cake looked up at me from her sewing. “Such a lovely man-and a wonderful knitter-is the Sergeant, a shame he’s still not married. If I could have a word with his lady friend, I’d tell her not to keep him waiting.”
“Rather a coincidence, a break-in on the night Mr. Gallagher disappeared.”
“They do happen. Or it could be Mrs. Johnson saw things her own way.”
“Presumably a check was made to see if Mr. Gallagher had taken a suitcase and some of his clothes.”
“Her ladyship wasn’t sure. She said he always kept one packed, ready to go, but she couldn’t remember where, and with a house this size it’s hard to track things down. She did look, so did Mavis and myself. It was Mr. Gallagher not taking his walking stick with the lion’s head that bothered Lady Fiona. But like I told her if he was in a hurry to be off, it would be easy to forget.”
“What was the weather like that night?”
“Cold and damp, it being January.”
“So he’d have taken a coat?”
“His waterproof jacket was gone from the hall closet.”
“Mrs. Cake,” I said, “is Mr. Gallagher of a similar height and weight to Mr. Scrimshank?”
“Not far off.” She stopped sewing, her kindly face puzzled.
“I’m wondering if it was Mr. Scrimshank Mrs. Johnson saw leaving the house and, because of the resemblance, assumed he was Mr. Gallagher.”
“Could’ve been, I suppose. There’d been all those attempts by Mr. Gallagher to get hold of him that day. That’s why it made sense that it was him he phoned a few days later. But if Mr. Scrimshank had been here at the house that night, he’d have told the police, wouldn’t he?”
“Perhaps not, if there’d been an argument.”
“About what, for instance?” Mrs. Cake moved her bandaged foot gingerly, as if it had begun to hurt.
“Problems with the Gallaghers’ finances?”
“Now you’ve said it, Mrs. Haskell. I have wondered why they were in a bad state and, nasty as it is for me to say, I never took to Mr. Scrimshank. I’ve always been sorry for Miss Tabby having to work for him. There’s something about his eyes, sort of a dead look, that gives me the creeps. Even so, it’s a big leap from not liking someone to thinking he could be wickedly dishonest. It never crossed my mind; but I do see where you’re going. Oh, dear, this does frighten me! What if Mrs. Hopkins has it right about Mr. Gallagher being murdered, even though she’s off the mark in thinking it was her ladyship that did it?”
“Would you like another cup of tea?” I asked her, noting that Mrs. Cake’s red face had paled.
“I could do with one, love. Don’t bother to make fresh, just heat up what’s in the pot and give it a good stir… Thanks,” she said, when I handed back her cup. “One thing that’s struck me as strange is that Mr. Gallagher would have gone away right after that row with Nanny Pierce, leaving her ladyship to deal with the old girl. She has her ways of getting even. I think that’s the reason her ladyship, leaving aside the shock of the police being brought in, has never felt quite settled in her mind that this was just another of Mr. Gallagher’s adventure trips.”
