‘That, if the letter could not be addressed openly, to come through the post, that the writer was what Georges, in an English idiom which I still cannot persuade him to interpret for me, says, is “Up to N.B.G.” From this I gather that the action of Mrs Schumann in writing the letter was clandestine, and of this I do not approve.’
‘So what did you do? – ignore the invitation?’ asked Laura.
‘But no, madame. Also, I had not the bêtise to write back – by post, with the stamp which costs fourpence – to say I do not eat with Germans. I wrote only that, as domestique, I do not find it suitable to visit on equal terms with those who have been the guests of Madame Lestrange Bradley, Dame of the British Empire, so called in the lists of honour.’
‘You make it sound like a tournament or joust,’ said Laura, ‘but let that go.’
‘Did you ever receive a warning from the police not to go about alone while this mass-murderer of women is still at large?’ asked Dame Beatrice.
‘But no, madame. It would not have been necessary. Never have I been without escort since the second of these assassinations. Seldom I need to shop, since, as is the careless English custom, goods are delivered to the house and are not marketed as in France, but, if I go out for any reason, it is never without the good Georges or with my husband. Also I forbid Zena to walk out, except with what she call her boy-friend, and he to come for her to the back door always, and not to make an assignation to meet her elsewhere.’
‘Good,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘You may clear away the tea-things.’
‘So poor Mrs Castle may have been a third and not even a second choice of victim,’ said Laura. ‘Well, shall we get down to the book of words as supplied by Inspector Maisry? It should be full of interest.’
(3)
The ‘book of words’ was a straightforward catechism consisting simply of questions and answers.
Q. I wonder, Mrs Schumann, whether you would be willing to help us?
A. Always I help the police. Why not? What have I to fear?
Q. Would you object if my sergeant, who writes in shorthand, took down this conversation?
A. He will read it to me at the end, of course. If so, I do not object. I have nothing to fear.
Q. We recently had an interview with a Mr Edward James. He was your daughter’s fiancé, was he not?
A. That, yes. Very sad for him, my Karen’s death.
Q. No doubt. Did you think it might be less sad for him if, when the period of mourning was over, he married you?
A. He told you he had asked me to marry him?
Q. Not quite. Isn’t it more accurate to say that you asked him to marry you?
A. No woman does that, except she is, perhaps, of royal blood.
Q. May I suggest to you that not only have we Mr James’s word for this, but he says that you offered him certain inducements.
A. Inducements? I do not understand.
Q. Did you lead him to believe that, if he would consent to marry you, you would settle five thousand pounds upon him so that he could give up teaching for two years?
A. He would not wish to give up teaching. He and my Karen were teachers together, both at the same school.
Q. That is not what I wanted to know. He is studying for a higher degree, is he not?
A. Ja, ja. He is clever, intelligent, ambitious, hard-working.
Q. And very anxious to obtain the degree of Doctor of Divinity?
A. What has that to do with it? I have said he was ambitious.
Q. Yes. Would it not seem very attractive to him to be able to give up teaching for a while so that he could give all his time and energy to study and research?
A. Very likely so. I do not know.
Q. Do you deny that you proposed marriage to him?
A. What is that to you?
Q. Did you not often say that he was too old to make his marriage with your daughter a success?
A. I thought it might be so. Twenty years between their ages. It is a long time.
Q. I must stress this point, Mrs Schumann. Were you prepared to give Mr James five thousand pounds if and when he married you?
A. What means five thousand pounds to me? It belonged to my daughter, and now she is dead.
Q. Yes, but, until she died, you did not have the five thousand pounds, did you?
A. No, of course I did not. You are telling me that Edward – no, I will not believe it!
Q. Believe what, Mrs Schumann?
A. I will not believe that Edward killed my Karen!
Q. But why should Mr James kill her? If he married her he would still have the five thousand pounds, would he not?
A. You did not know Karen. So mercenary. No part of the five thousand pounds for him. But with me he knows that if he can persuade me to marry him, he has it, ja, he has it all. I am of generous nature. When I love, I give – just like to Karen’s father. I give it all – love, youth, strength, money, to have the babies he want – everything.
Q. Do you suggest, then, that Edward James killed your daughter, knowing that he would get the five thousand pounds when he married you?
A. Me to suggest? Nothing! I say no more. You must think as you please. Myself, I stop thinking. It does no good to think. What is done is done. No use to grieve. No use to say, ‘If, if only, if’. No. I continue my life like Spartan mothers. If you think Edward James killed my Karen for five thousand pounds, I say I do not agree. Edward is a
