The Murder of Busy Lizzie

for something to be done.’

‘Cranby? All right, we’ll go,’ said Sebastian. ‘You stay here and keep an eye on things. We’ll get there quicker than you will.’

Before the two bird-watchers could argue about the matter, he seized his sister by the elbow and drew her towards the stairs, and in a minute or two they were running towards the farm.

‘Why didn’t you let that man go?’ asked Margaret, as they reached Ransome’s cottage and saw him at the bottom of his garden.

‘What I said. We’re quicker. Besides, we don’t want to get mixed up in anything if it is Aunt Eliza. Not that you’ve any proof.’ He halted at the gate and called out to Ransome, who leisurely put down the saw he had been using and strolled towards them.

‘Anything up?’ he asked.

‘There’s a body in the sea. Looks like a woman. Some birdwatchers spotted her.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Not far from that old lighthouse on the east cliff. We think she’s caught up among the rocks, but you can’t see much because the rocks partly hide her.’

‘All right, I’ll get some of the men. It will have to be Dimbleton’s boat. Must be one of the visitors done something foolish, I reckon. Dangerous they are, the currents round and about, but it’s no good telling people. They all think they know, better than we do, where it’s safe to bathe, and all that.’

‘It isn’t a bather. This woman is fully dressed. We’re afraid it’s Aunt Eliza,’ blurted out Margaret.

‘My mam? Oh, no!’ Ransome vaulted the gate and ran towards the farmhouse. Sebastian said:

‘Well, we’ve done what we can. Better get back to the hotel. If, by any chance, it is Aunt Eliza, father may like to have us there when the news is brought to him.’

It took time and skill to rescue the body from the rocks and get it on board the boat and back to the only landing-stage. The word had gone round and those who had watched the operation from the lighthouse gallery and the top of the cliffs raced along to the jetty to see the dead woman brought ashore. All that there was to satisfy their morbid curiosity, however, was wrapped in a tarpaulin. The cart used for the transport of luggage to the hotel had been requisitioned and the patient nag between the shafts pulled all that remained of the woman up the steeply-mounting road to the hotel.

Here the cortege was met at the entrance by Miss Crimp, who, somewhat hysterically, refused to give the body house-room.

‘I have my guests to consider,’ she said. ‘I can’t possibly have it in the hotel!’

‘But, ma’am, we’re pretty sure as it’s Mrs Chayleigh, what belong here,’ protested the boatman Dimbleton. ‘Fair knocked about, she be, but not much doubt in any of our minds.’

‘I can’t have her brought into the hotel, I tell you. You must get a doctor. He’ll tell you what to do.’

‘If you’d just take a peek at her, ma’am.’

‘Certainly not, until someone in authority orders me to do so. I will enquire whether there is a medical practitioner among my guests, but that is the most I can manage. You men must understand that this is a hotel, not a morgue. My guests are at dinner.’

There was an angry murmur among the fishermen who had assisted Dimbleton, and Miss Crimp, leaving the porter on guard at the door, went into the dining-room and demanded, in a voice shrill with nerves, whether there was a doctor among those present, although she must have known that none of her guests was qualified to answer the call.

‘There is one on the island, at any rate, Miss Crimp,’ said Marius, rising from the table which he was sharing with his children. ‘Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, at the house known, I believe, as Puffins, is a fully-qualified doctor of medicine and will know what to do.’ (His children had not told him of their fears, and he thought only of a bathing fatality).

To Puffins, therefore, trundled the cart with its pitiful and most unlovely burden. The door was opened by the stocky, respectable man who, on the mainland and at her own home, acted as chauffeur and general handyman to Dame Beatrice but, as there was no car on the island, was employed in the house to assist the only other two servants, her cook and her general maid, whom she had sent before her. He surveyed the tarpaulin-covered figure on the cart without enthusiasm.

‘Found drowned,’ said one of the rescuers, ‘but a doctor’s the usual thing in these cases. Dimbleton’s taking his boat across to alert the police and they’ll bring their own surgeon, no doubt, but they won’t get here, most likely, until tomorrow, so would your lady oblige?’

‘Well, you can’t bring a body in here,’ said George, austerely. ‘There’s a shed round the back. Come and help me take the door off so’s we can carry the corpse in there. Who is it?’

‘We don’t know for certain. Fish been and got at it—crabs and such.’

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear! Madam isn’t going to like that much, I’m afraid.’ He led the way round the house and, by the united efforts of himself and the helpers, the body was laid out ready for Dame Beatrice’s informed inspection. It had been badly knocked about by its battering against the rocks, but she directed her chief attention to a deep ragged cut on the back of the scalp.

‘I suppose the police have been sent for?’ she said.

‘So I understand, madam,’ said George, ‘but I am told they may not reach the island until tomorrow.’

‘Just a routine check, or is there a case for them?’ asked Laura, as Dame Beatrice, having thrown a pair of housemaid’s rubber gloves into the dustbin and followed them with the overall she had been wearing, went with her secretary back to the house.

‘It is impossible to say without a complete post-mortem examination and an autopsy. The body has sustained a severe fracture of the skull and other injuries, but it remains to be determined whether these are the result of a murderous attack or the result of a fatal accident. The body is indescribably battered, but that could be from a pounding on the rocks among which, George tells me, it was found, or from a fall from the cliffs, or both. From my necessarily cursory examination, I do not think this was a death from drowning, but the autopsy will settle that. She has certainly been dead for some days, so she cannot be one of the ornithologists, otherwise she might have fallen when climbing the cliffs. That could account for her injuries. I wonder who will identify the body?’

This question soon received an answer. A worried and anxious Marius Lovelaine, accompanied by an unwilling and apprehensive Miss Crimp, presented himself at the house some half-an-hour later and announced his fears that the dead woman might be his sister. He introduced the shrinking Miss Crimp and explained that, as he had not set eyes on his sister for more than twenty years, he had thought it wise to bring along someone who had been in close touch with her much more recently. Miss Crimp murmured wretchedly that she was perfectly certain the body could not be that of poor dear Eliza, and the two visitors were conducted to the shed, on the floor and walls of which, for obvious reasons (as there was no possibility of treating the corpse itself) strong household disinfectant had been freely sprinkled.

Marius gave vent to an expression of horror and Miss Crimp complained of faintness and had to be helped outside by Laura, but both agreed that the corpse was that of Eliza Lovelaine, generally known as Eliza Chayleigh.

‘Come into the house and be seated. You must have a restorative,’ said Dame Beatrice briskly. ‘Does either of you wish to tell me what you know about this unfortunate affair?—or would you rather keep your story for the police?’

‘Speaking for myself,’ said Marius, in his precise way, ‘I know next to nothing. I had been estranged from my sister for many years and was greatly surprised and somewhat touched to receive from her, last Easter, an account of her doings and a brochure which described the hotel here, together with a request that my family and I should spend a holiday with her this summer. I was a trifle surprised that she expected us to pay full rates for our accommodation, but I did not know, until I arrived here, that she had a partner, Miss Crimp, to whom, of course, she was partly accountable for the profits accruing from the business. When I learned this, I could see why we could not expect any monetary concessions.’

Having delivered himself of this neat exposition, Marius took a sip of the brandy which had been provided, sat back in his chair and left the field to Miss Crimp. Colour had come back to her cheeks and she seemed eager to give her own version of the story.