had – proved satisfactory?'
'Oh, of course.'
'I don't know whether I ought to ask it.' Miss Gilchrist's hands began to shake and she tried to steady her voice. 'But would it be possible not to – to mention the circumstances – or even the name?'
Susan stared.
'I don't understand.'
'That's because you haven't thought, Mrs Banks. It's murder. A murder that's been in the papers and that everybody has read about. Don't you see? People might think. 'Two women living together, and one of them is killed – and perhaps the companion did it.' Don't you see, Mrs Banks? I'm sure that if I was looking for someone, I'd – well, I'd think twice before engaging myself – if you understand what I mean. Because one never knows! It's been worrying me dreadfully, Mrs Banks; I've been lying awake at night thinking that perhaps I'll never get another job – not of this kind. And what else is there that I can do?'
The question came out with unconscious pathos. Susan felt suddenly stricken. She realised the desperation of this pleasant-spoken commonplace woman who was dependent for existence on the fears and whims of employers. And there was a lot of truth in what Miss Gilchrist had said. You wouldn't, if you could help it, engage a woman to share domestic intimacy who had figured, however innocently, in a murder case.
Susan said: 'But if they find the man who did it -'
'Oh then, of course, it will be quite all right. But will they find him? I don't think, myself, the police have the least idea. And if he's not caught – well, that leaves me as – as not quite the most likely person, but as a person who could have done it.'
Susan nodded thoughtfully. It was true that Miss Gilchrist did not benefit from Cora Lansquenet's death but who was to know that? And besides, there were so many tales – ugly tales – of animosity arising between women who lived together – strange pathological motives for sudden violence. Someone who had not known them might imagine that Cora Lansquenet and Miss Gilchrist had lived on those terms…
Susan spoke with her usual decision.
'Don't worry, Miss Gilchrist,' she said, speaking briskly and cheerfully. 'I'm sure I can find you a post amongst my friends. There won't be the least difficulty.'
'I'm afraid, said Miss Gilchrist, regaining some of her customary manner, 'that I couldn't undertake any really rough work. Just a little plain cooking and housework -'
The telephone rang and Miss Gilchrist jumped.
'Dear me, I wonder who that can be.'
'I expect it's my husband,' said Susan, jumping up. 'He said he'd ring me tonight.'
She went to the telephone.
'Yes? – yes, this is Mrs Banks speaking personally…'
There was a pause and then her voice changed. It became soft and warm. 'Hallo, darling – yes, it's me… Oh, quite well… Murder by someone unknown… the usual thing… Only Mr Entwhistle… What?… it's difficult to say, but I think so… Yes, just as we thought… Absolutely according to plan… I shall sell the stuff. There's nothing we'd want… Not for a day or two… Absolutely frightful… Don't fuss. I know what I'm doing… Greg, you didn't… You were careful to… No, it's nothing. Nothing at all. Good night, darling.'
She rang off. The nearness of Miss Gilchrist had hampered her a little. Miss Gilchrist could probably hear from the kitchen, where she had tactfully retired, exactly what went on. There were things she had wanted to ask Greg, but she hadn't liked to.
She stood by the telephone, frowning abstractedly. Then suddenly an idea came to her.
'Of course,' she murmured. 'Just the thing.'
Lifting the receiver she asked for Trunk Enquiry.
Some quarter of an hour later a weary voice from the exchange was saying:
'I'm afraid there's no reply.'
'Please go on ringing them.'
Susan spoke autocratically. She listened to the far off buzzing of a telephone bell. Then, suddenly it was interrupted and a man's voice, peevish and slightly indignant, said:
'Yes, yes, what is it?'
'Uncle Timothy?'
'What's that? I can't hear you.'
'Uncle Timothy? I'm Susan Banks.'
'Susan who?'
'Banks. Formerly Abernethie. Your niece Susan.'
'Oh, you're Susan, are you? What's the matter? What are you ringing up for at this time of night?'
'It's quite early still.'
'It isn't. I was in bed.'
'You must go to bed very early. How's Aunt Maude?'
'Is that all you rang up to ask? Your aunt's in a good deal of pain and she can't do a thing. Not a thing. She's helpless. We're in a nice mess, I can tell you. That fool of a doctor says he can't even get a nurse. He wanted to cart Maude off to hospital. I stood out against that. He's trying to get hold of someone for us. I can't do anything – I daren't even try. There's a fool from the village staying in the house tonight but she's murmuring about getting back to her husband. Don't know what we're going to do.'
'That's what I rang up about. Would you like Miss Gilchrist?'
'Who's she? Never heard of her.'
'Aunt Cora's companion. She's very nice and capable.'
'Can she cook?'
'Yes, she cooks very well, and she could look after Aunt Maude.'
'That's all very well, but when could she come? Here I am, all on my own, with only these idiots of village women popping in and out at odd hours, and it's not good for me. My heart's playing me up.'
'I'll arrange for her to get off to you as soon as possible. The day after tomorrow, perhaps?'
'Well, thanks very much,' said the voice rather grudgingly. 'You're a good girl, Susan – er – thank you.'
Susan rang off and went into the kitchen.
'Would you be willing to go up to Yorkshire and look after my aunt? She fell and broke her ankle and my uncle is quite useless. He's a bit of a pest but Aunt Maude is a very good sort. They have help in from the village, but you could cook and look after Aunt Maude.'
Miss Gilchrist dropped the coffee pot in her agitation.
'Oh, thank you, thank you – that really is kind. I think I can say of myself that I am really good in the sickroom, and I'm sure I can manage your uncle and cook him nice little meals. It's really very kind of you, Mrs Banks, and I do appreciate it.'
Chapter 11
I
Susan lay in bed and waited for sleep to come. It had been a long day and she was tired. She had been quite sure that she would go to sleep at once. She never had any difficulty in going to sleep. And yet here she lay, hour after hour, wide awake, her mind racing.
She had said she did not, mind sleeping in this room, in this bed. This bed where Cora Abernethie -
No, no, she must put all that out of her mind. She had always prided herself on having no nerves. Why think of that afternoon less than a week ago? Think ahead the future. Her future and Greg's. Those premises in Cardigan Street – just what they wanted. The business on the ground floor and a charming flat upstairs. The room out at the back a laboratory for Greg. For purposes of income tax it would be an excellent set-up. Greg would get calm and
