For the next three-quarters of an hour, Dame Alice held forth with that fluent gift of the gab for which she was known and loathed from one end of the country to the other. Dover’s stomach rumbled audibly but unheeded. He concentrated as hard as he could, but closed eyelids were no barrier against Dame Alice’s remorseless tirade. The bright, attentive look on MacGregor’s face grew fixed and stiff. With a great show of efficiency he got out his notebook and doodled furiously. He produced a quite creditable sketch of a woman being burned alive at the stake, which filled the whole of one page.
Dame Alice dropped, and blackened, quite a few names which Dover had heard before.
There was Mrs Tompkins, for instance. She was nursing a grudge over that baby business. ‘As if it was my fault,’ complained Dame Alice. ‘I told her right from the beginning that I couldn’t pull any strings for her, though, of course, I have a large number of contacts in that particular field. I warned her that adoption wasn’t easy in this day and age and I tried to point out that she and her husband were hardly the ideal couple. In spite of having all that money, they are living in conditions at the back of that shop which are, really, from an adoption society’s point of view, quite unacceptable. I endeavoured to stop Mrs Tompkins from letting her hopes rise too high and, naturally, I warned her that Mr Tompkins’s marked lack of enthusiasm wasn’t going to help, but, of course, when three societies in a row turned her down she blamed it all on me.’
‘It’s getting late, Dame Alice,’ said Dover half rising hopefully to his feet. ‘We don’t want to keep you from your lunch. The Sergeant and I’ll come back later.’
‘I never eat lunch,’ said Dame Alice, frowning at the interruption. ‘Where was I?’
Both Dover and MacGregor were scrupulously careful not to tell her, but it didn’t make any difference.
There was Mrs Grotty. She was jealous. ‘Nobody,’ proclaimed Dame Alice, ‘could hold the Church in deeper respect than I do. I consider it plays a most important part in our social life, and everybody who knows me would confirm that the last thing I would do is slight, by word or deed, any aspect of the Church or the people connected with it. It is hardly my fault if our local Chapter of the Christian Mothers’ and Wives’ Work and Prayer Group wished to re-elect me as President for the tenth year in succession. “I am well aware,” I told her, not mincing my words, “that all the other presidents of the local chapters are the wives of the incumbents. If this is not the case in Thornwich, I suggest that you know the reason better than I.” She had no answer, of course. One would have thought that she would have been grateful but I’m afraid gratitude is entirely alien to Mrs Crotty’s naure. “Most vicars’ wives,” I told her, “would be glad to have somebody who took an active interest in the parish and relieved them of some of their duties.” And then there was that business of the altar flowers. You’ve never heard such a fuss and palaver just because I . . .’
‘Do you mind if I have a cigarette?’ said Dover.
MacGregor, well trained, had the case half out of his pocket when Dame Alice’s reply cracked across the room like a cat-o’- nine-tails in the hands of a sadistic master at arms.
‘I certainly do mind! It is a filthy habit and I am surprised that a man of your standing and position should be a slave to it. It is nothing more than a breast substitute, you know. You can’t have been weaned properly as a child.’
Dover’s jaw dropped in blank astonishment. Before he could rally, she was off again.
Then there was Mrs Leatherbarrow, Poppy Gullimore’s landlady. She had already threatened Dame Alice with court action so there were no doubts about her attitude. ‘Mind you,’ said Dame Alice, ‘it’s all been smoothed over now. We’re on very amicable terms, on the surface. But I fancy my perfectly innocent remarks were a little nearer to the bone than Mrs Leatherbarrow cared to admit. She’s always letting rooms to these young, rather forward girls, you know. That Poppy Gullimore person is one of the most respectable-looking she’s had, so you can imagine what the rest were like. I did happen to mention, in a conversation I considered entirely private and confidential, that Mrs Leatherbarrow’s young ladies seemed blessed with an inexhaustible supply of gentlemen friends and, of course, the next thing you know is that she’s around here, hammering on my door and accusing me of accusing her of running a brothel. Absolute nonsense, of course. I’ve been in public life long enough to keep a guard on my tongue. Naturally I explained that I had said nothing of the sort and eventually she seemed satisfied, but I’ve never been really sure, you know, that it’s all forgotten and forgiven. In fact, Mrs Leatherbarrow was so upset that I have been keeping a discreet eye on her establishment – just in case. If there is anything nasty going on there you can rest assured it won’t escape my eagle eye, and I shan’t have any scruples about reporting the facts to the proper authorities, either.’
Dover tried again. He had lost all hope of defeating the enemy and could only resort to guerilla tactics designed to confuse and lower morale.
‘I want to go to the lavatory,’ he said in a loud clear voice. ‘Where is it?’
Dame Alice, wincing at such crudity, informed him that there was a downstairs cloakroom just outside in the hall.
Dover dragged himself up out
