He did not press her. He knew that with a girl of Ruth's type that would be no good. If, for some reason, she had made up her mind to keep silence, she would not, he felt sure, change her mind.
But there had been something. That knowledge cheered him and gave him fresh assurance. It was the first sign of a crevice in the blank wall that confronted him.
He took leave of Ruth after lunch and drove to Elvaston Square thinking of the woman he had just left.
Was it possible that Ruth Lessing was guilty? On the whole, he was prepossessed in her favour. She had seemed entirely frank and straightforward.
Was she capable of murder? Most people were, if you came to it. Capable not of murder in general, but of one particular individual murder. That was what made it so difficult to weed anyone out. There was a certain quality of ruthlessness about that young woman. And she had a motive – or rather a choice of motives. By removing Rosemary she had a very good chance of becoming Mrs George Barton. Whether it was a question of marrying a rich man, or of marrying the man she had loved, the removal of Rosemary was the first essential.
Race was inclined to think that marrying a rich man was not enough. Ruth Lessing was too cool-headed and cautious to risk her neck for mere comfortable living as a rich man's wife. Love? Perhaps. For all her cool and detached manner, he suspected her of being one of those women who can be kindled to unlikely passion by one particular man.
Given love of George and hate of Rosemary, she might have coolly planned and executed Rosemary's death. The fact that it had gone off without a hitch, and that suicide had been universally accepted without demur, proved her inherent capability.
And then George had received anonymous letters (From whom? Why? That was the teasing vexing problem that never ceased to nag at him) and had grown suspicious. He had planned a trap. And Ruth had silenced him. No, that wasn't right. That didn't ring true. That spelt panic – and Ruth Lessing was not the kind of woman who panicked. She had better brains than George and could have avoided any trap that he was likely to set with the greatest of ease.
It looked as though Ruth didn't add up after all.
Chapter 6
Lucilla Drake was thrilled and delighted to see Colonel Race.
The blinds were all down and Lucilla came into the room draped in black and with a handkerchief to her eyes and explained, as she advanced a tremulous hand to meet his, how of course she couldn't have seen anyone – anyone at all – except such an old friend of dear, dear George's – and it was so dreadful to have no man in the house! Really without a man in the house one didn't know how to tackle anything. Just herself, a poor lonely widow, and Iris, just a helpless young girl, and George had always looked after everything. So kind of dear Colonel Race and really she was so grateful – no idea what they ought to do. Of course Miss Lessing would attend to all business matters – and the funeral to arrange for – but how about the inquest? and so dreadful having the police – actually in the house – plain clothes, of course, and really very considerate. But she was so bewildered and the whole thing was such an absolute tragedy and didn't Colonel Race think it must be all due to suggestion – that was what the psychoanalysts said, wasn't it, that everything is suggestion? And poor George at that horrid place, the Luxembourg, and practically the same party and remembering how poor Rosemary had died there – and it must have come over him quite suddenly, only if he'd listened to what she, Lucilla, had said, and taken that excellent tonic of dear Dr Gaskell's – run down, all the summer – yes, thoroughly run down.
Whereupon Lucilla herself ran down temporarily, and Race had a chance to speak.
He said how deeply he sympathised and how Mrs Drake must count upon him in every way.
Whereupon Lucilla started off again and said it was indeed kind of him, and it was the shock that had been so terrible – here today and gone tomorrow, as it said in the Bible, cometh up like grass and cut down in the evening – only that wasn't quite right, but Colonel Race would know what she meant, and it was so nice to feel there was someone on whom they could rely. Miss Lessing meant well, of course, and was very efficient, but rather an unsympathetic manner and sometimes took things upon herself a little too much, and in her, Lucilla's, opinion, George had always relied upon her far too much, and at one time she had been really afraid that he might do something foolish which would have been a great pity and probably she would have bullied him unmercifully once they were married. Of course she, Lucilla, had seen what was in the wind. Dear Iris was so unworldly, and it was nice, didn't Colonel Race think, for young girls to be unspoilt and simple? Iris had really always been very young for her age and very quiet – one didn't know half the time what she was thinking about. Rosemary being so pretty and so gay had been out a great deal, and Iris had mooned about the house which wasn't really right for a young girl – they should go to classes – cooking and perhaps dressmaking. It occupied their minds and one never knew when it might come in useful. It had really been a mercy that she, Lucilla, had been free to come and live here after poor Rosemary's death – that horrid 'flu, quite an unusual kind of 'flu Dr Gaskell had said. Such a clever man and such a nice, breezy manner.
She had wanted Iris to see him this summer. The girl had looked so white and pulled down. 'But really, Colonel Race, I think it was the situation of the house. Low, you know, and damp, with quite a miasma in the evenings.' Poor George had gone off and bought it all by himself without asking anyone's advice – such a pity. He had said he wanted it to be a surprise, but really it would have been better if he had taken some older woman's advice. Men knew nothing about houses. George might have realised that she, Lucilla, would have been willing to take any amount of trouble. For, after all, what was her life now? Her dear husband dead many years ago, and Victor, her dear boy, far away in the Argentine – she meant Brazil , or was it the Argentine? Such an affectionate, handsome boy.
Colonel Race said he had heard she had a son abroad.
For the next quarter of an hour, he was regaled with a full account of Victor's multitudinous activities. Such a spirited boy, willing to turn his hand to anything – here followed a list of Victor's varied occupations. Never unkind, or bearing malice to anyone.
'He's always been unlucky, Colonel Race. He was misjudged by his house-master and I consider the authorities at Oxford behaved quite disgracefully. People don't seem to understand that a clever boy with a taste for drawing would think it an excellent joke to imitate someone's handwriting. He did it for the fun of the thing, not for money.' But he'd always been a good son to his mother, and he never failed to let her know when he was in trouble which showed, didn't it, that he trusted her? Only it did seem curious, didn't it, that the jobs people found for him so often seemed to take him out of England . She couldn't help feeling that if only he could be given a nice job, in the Bank of England say, he would settle down much better. He might perhaps live a little out of London and have a little car.
It was quite twenty minutes before Colonel Race, having heard all Victor's perfections and misfortunes, was able to switch Lucilla from the subject of sons to that of servants.
Yes, it was very true what he said, the old-fashioned type of servant didn't exist any longer. Really the trouble people had nowadays! Not that she ought to complain, for really they had been very lucky. Mrs Pound, though she had the misfortune to be slightly deaf, was an excellent woman. Her pastry sometimes a little heavy and a tendency to over-pepper the soup, but really on the whole most reliable – and economical too.
She had been there ever since George married and she had made no fuss about going to the country this year, though there had been trouble with the others over that and the parlourmaid had left – but that really was all for the best – an impertinent girl who answered back – besides breaking six of the best wine-glasses, not one by one at odd times which might happen to anybody, but all at once which really meant gross carelessness, didn't Colonel Race think so?
'Very careless indeed.'
'That is what I told her. And I said to her that I should be obliged to say so in her reference – for I really feel one has a duty, Colonel Race. I mean, one should not mislead. Faults should be mentioned as well as good qualities. But the girl was – really – well, quite insolent and said that at any rate she hoped that in her next place she wouldn't be in the kind of house where people got bumped off – a dreadful common expression, acquired at the cinema, I believe, and ludicrously inappropriate since poor dear Rosemary took her own life – though not at the time responsible for her actions as the coroner very rightly pointed out – and that dreadful expression refers, I believe, to
