Lovers Make Moan

had to make a complete change of costume out of Diana’s tunic and buskins back to her former Elizabethan trappings, but Emma, Barbara and Deborah were all on hand to help her, and I had done my best to make sure that everything needed was to hand to save delay.”

Rinkley’s props had been given a table to themselves. There was the ass’s head, as well as the gear for Pyramus. Valerie also had her own table in her woodland tent so that her Tudor garments could be exchanged as expeditiously as possible for the things she wore in the hunting scene and back again for the last scene. The only other articles on her table were the dashing boots which Brian, as Theseus, wore in the same scene. The tables in the wings held the rest of the clutter for the workmen’s play.

“I had forgotten the donkey’s head,” said Dame Beatrice.

“Is it important?” enquired Valerie Yorke nervously.

“Not in the least, although, as the child said of a gas mask in the last war, ‘it kind of suits some people, don’t it?’ ” Dame Beatrice replied.

When Jonathan opened the front door for his party on their arrival home that evening, he picked up an envelope which had been pushed through the letter-box. It was typewritten and was addressed to Dame Beatrice. She read the letter inside and observed that it was a cry from the heart. It came from Susan Hythe, and the substance of it was that she and Caroline Frome had read all about Dame Beatrice in the newspapers and would be very grateful indeed if they might come and see her. They were extremely worried by ‘things which are being said about us and the inquest being adjourned and all that, so do please let us come’.

The girls were left in the hall by Emma Lynn, who had brought them along.

“They have been given time off from work to come and see you. So kind of you,” said Emma, her plain face flushing and the colour enhancing her looks. “They are extremely worried, poor things, and no wonder.”

“Anonymous letters?” Dame Beatrice enquired.

“No, telephone calls put through to my husband’s local office where they work as typists. The calls are dealt with now by the supervisor, but the girls are still apprehensive. Their lives have been threatened. Marcus dismisses the threats as coming from what he calls ‘some screwball’, and I expect he’s right, but girls of their age are very impressionable and their alarm is very real. We are all still suffering from the shock of Donald’s death and unfortunately the girls had been heard to say that they wished he would drop dead. Not that they meant it, of course. It is just an expression, but people remember these things.”

“I do not know that I can help them. I have already been approached by Mrs Bourton and Mr Rinkley and have spoken with Mr and Mrs Yorke. There have been some unpleasant anonymous letters, but those are a commonplace under circumstances of this sort. Do the telephone calls come from a man or a woman?”

“It is difficult to say. The supervisor, who has taken two of the calls, thinks that the voice is disguised.”

“What do the girls think?”

“I have not asked them. If the supervisor is right, it means that the girls would recognise the voice if it were not disguised, don’t you think?”

“One of their workmates playing a cruel practical joke on them?”

“I hardly think so. Instant dismissal would be the penalty for that, once the joker was unmasked. I think it must be some member of the cast.”

“It is obviously somebody who knows where the girls are employed, but no doubt a good many people would know that. Cases of murder always throw up these ‘screwballs’, as your husband calls them. They soon give up their fun, but it is very uncomfortable for their victims while it lasts, and young girls are especially vulnerable. I shall be interested to hear what they have to say.”

So Deborah entertained Emma in the drawing-room while Dame Beatrice interviewed Susan and Caroline in the library.

Chapter 13

Cut Down to Size

“So quick, bright things come to confusion.”

« ^ »

Poor kids! It’s a shame that they should be involved. Mind you, they are not the only people to be upset, apart from the recipients of anonymous letters. When the inquest was adjourned, what tickled me was the obvious surprise and displeasure of the coroner. He was all ready with his cosy little verdict of death by misadventure,” said Jonathan. “I don’t suppose this borough has had a case of murder on its books since the old smuggling days, and he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would want to break the record. Did the girls tell you anything useful at all?”

“No. They suggested—a ploy which must have been agreed on because I interviewed them separately and both of them mentioned it—that I should put them under hypnosis.”

“Whatever for?”

“So that they could convince me that they had no hand in Donald Bourton’s death.”

“Good heavens! Whatever next?”

“They did convince me of one thing. When Rinkley was taken ill, they fully expected that you, and not Donald Bourton, would take Pyramus upon you. They stressed that, although Bourton had made himself somewhat objectionable to them in certain ways, and Rinkley had done the same in certain other ways, they had nothing against you at all, and certainly had no reason to wish you harm.”

“Fair enough. Beyond the general greetings at rehearsals and so forth, I doubt whether I ever spoke to them at all, and I don’t suppose they did know that Bourton, and not I, was to stand-in for Rinkley. Why should anybody have bothered to mention it to them? Once our cocktail party was over, I don’t suppose any of our guests gave the alteration another thought until Rinkley was actually laid low.”