‘Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley’s secretary here,’ she said. ‘Dr Mortlake?’
‘Speaking. What can I do for Dame Beatrice?’
‘Will you suggest a time convenient to you when you could meet? As soon as possible, please.’
‘I shall be honoured to meet her, of course. Where?’
‘Preferably here at the Stone House, Wandles Parva. Will you dine with us? We can put you up for the night.’
‘Thanks very much. Will Wednesday suit Dame Beatrice?’
‘I’m sure it will.’
‘My colleague in Axehead can get a locum to take my evening surgery.’
‘Right. We’ll expect you at half-past seven. We dine at eight in the summer.’
‘May I ask what it’s all about?’
‘It’s Home Office business, I think.’
‘Oh, really? What is that to do with me?’
‘I can’t tell you any more. Wednesday at half-past seven, then.’
Dr Mortlake was a clean-shaven, personable man of between thirty-five and forty, or so Dame Beatrice guessed. No mention was made of the reason for the invitation until dinner was over and the three were in the drawing-room having coffee. Dame Beatrice opened what Laura described as the business meeting by remarking that she had made the acquaintance of the Rant sisters. She then looked at Laura, who explained how this had come about. She went on to say that she believed Dr Mortlake knew them well.
‘I did, at one time,’ he said, ‘but that was several years ago. As you probably know, I was their father’s assistant for a time and I lived with the family at Crozier Lodge.’
‘Mrs Rant was alive at the time, I suppose?’
‘Oh, yes. She lived for a year or two years after I joined them. Rant and I each had a surgery on the ground floor — but, after he died — it must be three years ago now — I left. For one thing, the two girls were then the owners of the house and, as neither had qualified in medicine, I was not at all surprised when I received a delicate hint from Bryony that they wanted the place to themselves. For another thing, in a hive of gossip such as Abbots Crozier, I thought there might be — to put it mildly — remarks made about the relationship between a still youngish bachelor and two unmarried girls. Besides, Rant had always promised me a full partnership instead of the part- share which I had accepted when first I joined him, and in his will he left me enough money to buy my own practice.’
‘Dr Mortlake, I want to hear about four deaths which have occurred, three of them over a fairly short period, the fourth recently. None of them appears to have been caused by old age or any terminal illness.’
‘You don’t mean —?’
‘It may come to that, in the final analysis, but I doubt it. I want those people cleared out of the way, that is all. I dislike unnecessary complications.’
‘But, if I know the deaths to which you are referring, all four have been fully accounted for. There is no mystery about any of them.’
‘You think not? A young and, so far as one knows, a healthy boy dies of septicaemia from a gash which, properly treated, should have caused no particular problem.’
‘Oh, Dame Beatrice! You know what villagers are like. Three-quarters or more of them in Abbots Crozier have not even the basic notions of hygiene. The boy’s aunt refused to have him attend Outpatients at the Axehead hospital and the lad agreed with her. In consequence, because of their negligence, the wound turned septic and that was that.’
‘Not quite, surely? I understand that Dr Rant treated the wound.’
‘Oh, look here!’ said Mortlake uncomfortably. ‘I can’t criticise another doctor’s treatment of his patient, even though that doctor is dead. You yourself are highly qualified in medicine. You know what the ethics of the profession entail.’
‘I accept the implied rebuke, but your scruples need not extend further than you claim. What of Dr Rant as a family man; as a husband and father?’
The flush of anger and (Dame Beatrice guessed) embarrassment died away on Mortlake’s fair-skinned cheeks. He looked troubled. He said at last that the couple had always behaved with the utmost correctness in his presence, but he had thought that their attitude towards one another in private might have been different. As for the two daughters, they had been in awe of their father, if not in actual fear of him. Bryony attempted to stand up to him now and again, but any sign of rebelliousness was soon nipped in the bud. She had gone to Mortlake himself after one inglorious set-to with her father and unburdened herself. All she had done, she said, was to beg her father to let her return to college so she could study to go on to university.
‘Of course, Rant had flown off the handle,’ said Mortlake. ‘Mrs Rant had become a semi-invalid and he decided to end the girls’ education and keep them at home to look after their mother and himself, and that’s how it worked out. I was damned sorry for all of them, especially Bryony. She badly wanted to go to university and then get away from home and take a job.’
‘Did Dr Rant have trouble in getting domestic help, then?’ asked Laura.
‘Well, what servants there were had to pluck up all their courage to give notice, I think, but, one by one, they did it and, in the end, not long before he died, he couldn’t get any replacements. However much they needed a job, the village women fought shy of Crozier Lodge, especially after Mrs Rant died, so the two girls did everything.’
‘I often wonder how Edward Moulton-Barrett managed to keep any servants,’ said Laura. ‘Didn’t the girls resent being household drudges when their father, it seems, had so much money?’
‘Bryony was deeply resentful; Morpeth is more malleable and so got most of the chores put on her. To be fair to Bryony, though, it must be allowed that she acted as her father’s driver when he did his afternoon rounds, and so
