The Skeleton in the Clock

At this change of subject, Ricky became natural again.

'That's not a bad idea! You can take my car. But where would you go for a beano in unexplored wilds like these?'

'That's not it' Jenny shook her head vehemently, still looking at Martin. 'Will you just take me somewhere, and drive and drive and drive? I don't care where. Will you?'

'You know I will, my dear.'

Jenny advanced into the room. Sinking into one of the wicker chairs beside a round table, she threw her pullover on the table. At this change of subject abruptly introduced but well received, more emotion should have been drained away. And yet, in Jenny's case at least it was not

'Ruth Callice,' she bit at her underlip, 'Ruth Callice says you and she and this barrister had some horrible idea of spending a night in the execution shed at Pentecost to see whether there were any ghosts of hanged people. Ruth says you suggested it' 'Well… in a way I did yes.'

'She says you promised. But yon wont go now, will you?’’ Martin laughed.

'Under the circumstances, Jenny, I think they'll make no difficulty about releasing me from the promise.' He turned to Ricky. 'Would you like to substitute for me?'

'Would I?' exploded Ricky. The words 'prison' and 'ghosts’ had powerful effect Again taking out pipe and lighter, his dark-blond hair falling over his forehead, he snapped on the lighter and kindled the tobacco with deep inhalations.

'Listen,' he went on, with a waving gesture of pipe and smoke. 'I’ve been trying to get a look inside that place for nearly ten years, ever since they hoicked the convicts out But you can't get in, any more than the poor devils could get out How are you going to do it?'

'Rickyl'

Jenny's small voice stopped him. He looked at her curiously. She was half lying back in the chair, the yellow hair thrown back, her face with a little more of its customary pallor.

'All the p-pleasant things,' she stammered, gripping the arms of the chair, 'have got mixed up with the dreadful ones. It was awfully kind of you to… to…'

'Rubbish. Let's get back to the subject of ghosts.'

'All right' Jenny answered unexpectedly, 'I will. Ricky, your mother's been very upset all afternoon.'

Into Martin's head came an image of Aunt Cicely, with her tear-reddened eyelids, seen through a brass telescope from a bedroom window. But mention of Aunt Cicely seemed to act on Ricky as mention of Grandmother Brayle acted on Jenny, though in a different way.

'I know! I ought to have been at home in the afternoon!'

'No, Ricky. It wasn't that Have you ever heard of a man named Stannard?'

'I don't think so. Why?'

'He's one of the guests. He and Ruth came down by an earlier train than they'd expected to. Ruth said she ought to keep an eye on Martin—'

(Here Ricky turned a surprised face, but Martin was looking at Jenny.)

'— and they got here about lunch-time. During lunch, Mr. Stannard started talking about the day your father… died.' Ricky took the pipe out of his mouth. 'Blast his impudence!' Ricky shouted. 'I honestly don’t think it was impudence.' 'No? It always upsets mother, though.' 'You see,' Jenny frowned, 'Mr. Stannard said to Aunt Cicely something like, I’m afraid we've met before, Lady Fleet' Aunt Cicely laughed and said, That's not very complimentary.' Then Mr. Stannard said, 'Forgive me: I only meant I was at Fleet House on the day your unfortunate husband met his death.'' 'What did mother say?'

'Well, Ruth Callice tells me it wasn't a very merry lunch.' 'Damn him!'

'Ricky, do you remember or did you ever hear of any 'Stannard' being there at the time?' 'No. Never.'

'Nor I. In anything I've ever heard, or — read.'

'But what is all this?' demanded Ricky. His pipe had gone out, and he put it down on the table. 'You're as fretted as though you'd seen a whole crowd of ghosts. My governor's been dead for twenty years. It's a pity about mother; I'd like to wring Stannard's neck; but a little tact and well smooth it over.'

'We can't smooth over the police,' Jenny said.

She rose to her feet and appealed to Martin.

'I–I haven't said anything about what Sir Henry told us yesterday. I mean, at Willaby's. Partly because I was afraid of the rumpus, and partly because I never can tell whether he's serious or not'

Jenny turned to Ricky, and nodded towards the closed door of the other parlour.

'The police are here,' she added. 'They're in that room now. I saw them go in when I came here. There's a Chief Inspector from Scotland Yard, and the other man — well, they call him the Old Maestro. They're here to investigate. Sir Henry thinks your father was murdered.'

The word, on Jenny's lips, sounded incongruous.

'Nonsense!' said Ricky. 'He got vertigo and pitched over the parapet'

'Yes; but suppose someone did kill him?'

'Look here! Wait a minute!'

'I want to know who was at the house that day,' Jenny went on, 'and where everybody was when it happened. I was only five years old then. Ricky, how well do you remember?'

The other tousled up his hair, digging the fingers in.

'Some parts of it very plainly, and others not at all. Because they get mixed up with different years. I was barely twelve myself. Besides, I didn't see it happen. I was in the back garden with Miss Upton. She had a head-lock on me.'

'Ricky, please do be serious!'

“I am serious! Can't you remember Miss Upton the governess, with a build like Sandow and yet that refined la-di-da accent coming out of her mouth?'

'Yes. I remember. She was with your family four years.'

'Well, I mean quite literally she had a wrestling-hold on me. Because I wanted to watch the hunt go past' Ricky paused. 'You know, Jenny-angel, this subject…'

'Yes! It's been taboo in our families for all these years. Let's tear it apart!'

'But why?'

'Have you thought,' asked Jenny, and looked at Martin, 'what the upset of a police-investigation would be in your house? And my house?'

Clearly Ricky hadn't Up to this moment, it was clear, he had regarded the matter as nothing very important The governor's been dead for twenty years; we've forgotten it; why bother?’ Such might have been his philosophy. Now he sat down heavily in what had been Jenny's chair by the table, and picked up his dead pipe. The sun's glow was dimming to a pale, clear after-light through the open door to the road.

'Tell it,' Jenny almost whispered. 'Tell it!'

'It was October or November. I'm sure of that, because the trees were mostly bare and there were leaves on the ground. Also because they'd given me a new cricket-bat; and the governor asked what I wanted with a new one when the season was over; but cricket has no season for you at that age. There was some kind of special treat promised for tea, because a number of people were to be there.

'As I say, Miss Upton and I were in the back garden. Near the house, I think. There was a red sky to the west, with the bare branches of trees up against it. It wasn't very cold, and there was a clean autumny-tanging kind of wind. Then we heard the Ascombe Hunt

'We'd heard faint noises before. But nothing to the uproar like this. We couldn't see anything, because the house was between us and the road. But the hounds were ding-dong and hell-for-leather on a breast-high scent I knew they'd broken out of Black Hanger and across Guideman's Field just back of this pub here, and I guessed they were running to view.

'I started to make a bee-line for the front of the house. Miss Upton grabbed my arm. She was afraid I would run across and get among the field in front of somebody's horse, which had happened once or twice before. I kicked up a devil of a row until she got a head-lock on me. Then she said: 'Richard, you may go to the front if I keep hold of your hand.'

‘I said yes, and meant it. We started round the north side-of the house, on the broad gravel drive. Then we heard a… well a shout'