He took out his cigarettes. 'Constable?'
'Thank you, sir.'
'I was told you were with Dr Blackwell when she found the child.' He struck a match for them.
'So I was.' Stackpole drew in a lungful of tobacco smoke. 'I'd already been looking for her when Dr Helen — Dr Blackwell — arrived, and we started searching again. It was the doctor who found her, under her bed in the nursery. Poor little girl. She'd squashed herself up against the wall and was lying there with her eyes shut. She must have heard us calling, but she didn't make a sound. When Dr Helen pulled her out she was stiff all over and there were dust balls in her hair. She wouldn't say a word. The doctor wrapped her in a bedspread and put her in her car and drove her straight here.'
'Have you known Dr Blackwell long?'
'Since we were children, sir.' The constable grinned.
'Miss Helen's from the village. Fine doctor, they say.'
'But not yours?'
'Well, no, sir.' Stackpole looked embarrassed. 'I mean, the wife and children go to her, but somehow it doesn't seem right, her being a woman… Besides there's her father, old Dr Collingwood. He still sees a few patients.'
They put out their cigarettes. Madden unlatched the garden gate. Close by, a huge weeping beech spread its branches over a corner of the lawn. He saw the house outlined against the darkening sky. Like Melling Lodge, it faced the woods of Upton Hanger, deep and mysterious at this hour. The same stream they had crossed earlier that day divided the ridge from an orchard at the bottom of the garden, which was bounded by a low stone wall.
They walked up the sloping lawn to the house where the curtains remained undrawn on a wide bow window. Light from inside washed across a broad terrace lined with flower-pots. Roses clung to a trellis.
The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine.
As they drew near the house a dog began barking and a door opened. Stackpole touched his helmet.
'Evening, Miss Helen.'
'Hullo, Will.' The doctor was a tall silhouette against the light. 'Down, Molly!' she commanded as a black pointer slipped out of the door behind her and came prancing up to the men.
'This is Inspector Madden, from London. Sir… Dr Blackwell.'
They shook hands. Helen Blackwell had a firm grip.
'Come in, please.' She ushered them into the drawing-room.
'I've been expecting you. I only wish the circumstances were less appalling.'
Madden took off his hat. 'I'm sorry you had to be called in this morning, ma'am,' he said. 'I expect they were your friends.'
'They were. It was dreadful.' Helen Blackwell had thick fair hair, drawn back and tied with a ribbon behind her head. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue, Madden noted, dark, almost violet-coloured. He registered her good looks, but was struck more by the signs of character in her face. Her glance was direct.
'I've known Lucy Fletcher all my life. We grew up together, people used to take us for sisters.'
She fell silent, but he saw she had something more to say and he waited.
'I didn't examine the bodies thoroughly this morning It wouldn't have been right. Can you tell me, was Lucy Mrs Fletcher…?'
'Assaulted?' Instinctively he avoided the more explicit term. 'We don't know. The pathologist will conduct the post-mortems in Guildford, probably tonight.'
Stackpole coughed. Dr Blackwell turned to him.
'I believe there's an officer here, Miss Helen.'
'In the kitchen, Will. You'll find Edith there. Ask her to make up a plate of sandwiches, would you? And have some yourself.'
As the constable left them, Madden began to speak, but she checked him with a gesture. 'Sit down, Inspector. Please. You must be exhausted.'
Gratefully, he obeyed. Dr Blackwell went to a drinks tray. She poured whisky from a decanter into a glass and brought it to him. 'Consider that a medical prescription.'
Her smile, open and friendly, took him by surprise.
She seated herself beside a table where a group of silver-framed photographs stood showing young men in officer's uniform. Madden's eye shifted away from them quickly, but she had caught the direction of his glance.
'Those two on the left are my brothers. David was killed on the Somme. He's the younger. Peter was a pilot. He only lasted three weeks. My mother died of a heart complaint the year before the war and now I can only think of it as a blessing.' She was silent. Then she gestured towards another of the photographs. 'And that's my husband, Guy. He was killed, too. A stray shell, they said.' Her glance met Madden's. 'Scenes from an English drawing-room, circa nineteen twenty one.'
He could find no words.
'I was thinking of them today when I went to the Lodge. How the thing I hated most about the war was the way it plucked up people at random and destroyed them. How I'd thought that that, at least, was over.'
There was a knock on the door and a maid came in carrying a tray with sandwiches on it. She put the plate on a side table near Madden. Dr Blackwell gathered herself. 'What can I do for you, Inspector?
Would you like me to make a statement?'
'We're concerned about the Fletcher child. We'd like her moved to hospital in Guildford as soon as possible.'
'I'm afraid that's out of the question.'
Her response was so swift that Madden had to check to assure himself he'd heard her correctly. He put down his glass. 'Dr Blackwell, this is a police matter.'
'I understand that. It changes nothing.' She spoke in a calm voice, but her expression was unyielding.
'Sophy was in a state of profound shock when I found her this morning. She was quite unable to move or speak. The stiffness — it's a form of hysterical paralysis — has eased somewhat, but she hasn't said a word, and I don't know when she will. The very worst thing now would be to put her among strangers. She knows me and everyone in this house and she trusts us. There's nothing that can be done for her in hospital that can't be done here.'
'She's a possible witness-'
'I'm aware of that. You're welcome to keep a policeman here. More than one, if you wish. But I won't have her moved.'
The steadiness of the doctor's gaze seemed to set a seal on her words. In spite of his surprise, Madden had listened carefully to what she said, while noticing that her pale silk blouse was embroidered with a pattern of green leaves. He came to a decision quickly. 'I believe you're right,' he declared. 'I'll say as much to my chief inspector.'
The severity of her expression dissolved at once into the same open smile as before. 'Thank you, Inspector.'
'But I must see the child.'
'Of course. She's in bed. Come with me.'
She led him out into a hallway and up the stairs.
Following, Madden caught a whiff of jasmine, like an echo from the terrace outside. They stopped at a closed door in the passage above.
'One moment, please.' She opened the door and glanced inside. 'Come in. Try not to wake her.'
'Isn't she sedated?'
'I gave her something earlier, but it'll have worn off by now. She's sleeping normally. I'd like that to continue.'
Madden followed her into a bedroom where a night light burned. A dark-haired young woman in a maid's uniform got up from a chair as they entered. Dr Blackwell motioned to her to sit again.
'This is Mary,' she whispered. 'Sophy knows her well. They go for walks in the woods together when she comes to visit.'
He went closer to the bed. At the sight of the blonde head buried in the pillow an old grief awoke in him and he stood for a long time, bent over her, listening to the faint rhythm of the child's breathing, so precious it
