Pageant of Murder

“Ah, yes, social work,” said Dame Beatrice. “What did that entail?”

“Well, mostly it was fallen women. He was extremely earnest and very sympathetic. On one occasion we had trouble in persuading him that it wasn’t in her best interests for him to marry one of them. One of our Girls’ Friendly girls, unfortunately. When Luton found out about it, he went to the man and put it to him, but the man refused to have anything more to do with the girl. He said there was no proof that he was the father and that he denied he was. Luton got very upset, especially when the man told him to marry the girl himself if he felt so strongly about it.”

“And Mr Luton was prepared to do so? How long ago was this?”

“Oh, when he was a very much younger man. At one of the Wednesday meetings for men, he asked for guidance, and, of course, it is our custom to ask aloud for guidance, so that matters can be discussed, if necessary, by everyone present.”

“And the meeting persuaded Mr Luton that…”

“Well, it was throwing himself to the dogs, as it were. I took it on myself to point out that people not knowing him as well as some of us did, might regard it as a sign of his own guilt if he married the girl. Moreover, as the husband of a fallen woman, we could hardly allow him to continue as Sunday School superintendent. It wouldn’t have been seemly.”

“Oh, would it not?” asked Dame Beatrice.

“Oh, no. You see, there’s the saying about no smoke without fire. They gossip, you know—even the best and most upright—and where there’s gossip, well, I hardly need to tell you that scandal is never far behind.”

“Only too true, I am afraid, but could gossip in the town really harm the chapel or the Sunday School?”

“If it was to be confined to the town, as such, perhaps not, but, you see, there was a little coterie—if that’s the word—who attended our Mothers’ Pleasant Afternoon, who would have been likely to, well, draw their skirts aside, if you know what I mean, and that certainly wouldn’t have helped matters.”

“So some of you talked Mr Luton out of his self-sacrificing dream?”

“Yes, in the end, we did. It’s all very well to see yourself as a Good Samaritan, but, in this case, what seemed at first to him to be the right thing to do was going to be so damaging to the good name of our chapel and Sunday School that—well, we just couldn’t let him do it, and, anyway, the girl was dead against it, too, as you can understand. Mr Hughes, our pastor, had the last word. He told him, straight out, that he would no longer be permitted to be Sunday School superintendent if he persisted in carrying out his idea.”

“What you tell me is extremely interesting,” said Dame Beatrice.

“Yes. The latest trouble has been one of our Sunday School teachers. A very sad business that is.”

“But Mr Luton did not renew his attempt to…”

“Well, of course, he’s older and wiser now—he was, I mean. We only knew about it shortly before his death. Of course, he went along to see her—being, as I said, a very keen social worker—and our pastor, Mr Hughes, has been to see her too, but she said she only wanted to be left alone, and her mother was standing by her, so we didn’t see what else we could do.”

“And you feel sure that, this time, Mr Luton did not propose marriage to her?”

“Oh, I’m certain he didn’t. This time he didn’t even ask for guidance, you see. He would ask for guidance before taking any such action, of course.”

“And the guidance he obtained on the former occasion convinced him that his well-intentioned plan, if he had carried it out, would have been against the interests of the chapel and the Sunday School. Yes, I see that he would not have attempted to carry out a similar plan the second time. By the way, did Mr Luton know the name of the baby’s father on this second occasion?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I think he must have done, because what he said to me this last time was to the effect that it wasn’t as though the fellow couldn’t afford to support a wife, and so I think he must have known or guessed who the father was. Still, he named no names, and, in these days, there’s many a young man employed in this town at a rate of pay quite sufficient to marry on if they have honourable intentions.”

“Would you mind giving me the girl’s address?”

“Well, it can’t do any harm, I suppose. Are you from the Unmarried Mothers’ Society?”

“No. I am investigating, with the approval of the police, the death of Mr Luton and the others.”

“I thought the police were satisfied Luton’s death was an accident.”

“The Coroner’s jury thought so; the police are still looking into the matter. They want to find the man or woman who caused the death, whether or not it was accidental.”

“Oh, I see. And you’re helping them?”

“In my capacity as psychiatric adviser to the Home Office, yes, I am.”

“Well, I wish you luck, I’m sure. Of course, Luton was a rare one for a practical joke in a mild way, but this went rather beyond a joke, didn’t it? Come inside, and I’ll look up that address and write it down for you.”

The home of the unmarried mother was in a cul-de-sac off the high street known as Paddock Place. It had been agreed, in accordance with his own suggestion, that Perse should escort Dame Beatrice to the house and then leave her to conduct the negotiations as she thought most fitting.

The front door opened directly on to the alleyway, for there was no front garden, and it was opened by a respectable-looking woman in a flowered overall. From the rear of the premises came the smell of cooking.

“Yes?” said the woman.

“Mrs Darbey?” asked Dame Beatrice. She handed the woman a visiting card. “I have just come from the Sunday School, where I was given your address. May I have a word with your daughter?”

“Mabel’s out. What did you want? We’re not interested in the Welfare, or nothing of that.”