Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [52]
“It’s only me,” said Harry. “I came to see how you were.”
“Frightened.”
“What happened? What were you doing on the roof?”
So Rose told her story again, ending with, “And the note’s gone. I left it on the dressing-table.”
“I got Hedley to phone the police. The silly man thought it could be covered up. I don’t think his servants and guests are going to keep quiet about a dead body in the moat.”
“Maybe ... maybe she fell in.”
“She was probably pushed.”
“But why Colette and not Quinn?”
“I really don’t think Quinn knows the identity of Mary Gore-Desmond’s lover, but somehow Colette must have found out. Perhaps she tried to blackmail someone. Where’s Daisy?”
“I sent her to phone the Daily Mail?
“Why?”
“Because I did not want this to be hushed up. Also, do you remember how the scandal of the bombs at Stacey Magna brought so many press and sightseers to the village? The villagers here could do with some money. I think they are starv-ing.”
“They are abysmally housed but they are not starving. Country people grow their own vegetables and most keep a pig and, if I am not mistaken, a lot of food from the castle kitchens will find its way down to the village. But there is no school and a lot of illness due to the insanitary conditions they live in.” He laughed. “I am sure the Daily Mail will point that out.”
“Daisy is also phoning my parents.”
“I should think the other ladies will be contacting their parents. Lord Hedley had better expect more guests.”
Daisy entered the room. “I did like you said, my lady. \bur ma and pa are coming as soon as possible. I told that butler to prepare a room for them.”
There was a knock at the door. Daisy opened it and the marquess and the doctor walked in. It showed that the marquess had finally realized the gravity of the situation that he should allow the despised Dr. Perriman back in the castle.
“A word with you, Cathcart,” he snapped. “We’ll leave the doctor to get on with it.”
Dr. Perriman was a small neat man with bright intelligent eyes. He listened carefully while Rose told him what had happened.
“I am glad, in a way,” he said. “It means the death of Miss Gore-Desmond might be investigated again. Now, let me examine you. Did you swallow a lot of water?”
“I did, but I think I got rid of most of it by being sick. Oh, Captain Cathcart rescued me and I never even thanked him.”
“Later will do.”
He examined her, sounding her chest and feeling her pulse. Then he said, “I think you have come out of it remarkably well, Lady Rose. But I shall leave a sleeping draught with you because you have been through a great ordeal.”
Rose looked uneasily at the green glass bottle he placed on her bedside table. She had no intention of swallowing any and leaving herself vulnerable to a prowling murderer.
“I did not think arsenic was used much these days as a cosmetic,” she said.
“Perhaps not. But there is a great deal of arsenic around. Fly-papers contain arsenic. There was a case recently where a woman had soaked fly-papers to get the resultant crystals and killed her husband. Then a lot of old houses still have arsenic paste in the wallpaper, called Paris Green. It is also used as a treatment for syphilis—I do beg your pardon. I should not mention such a thing in front of ladies.”
When he had gone, Rose said, “I might sleep. Stay with me, Daisy. Oh, someone at the door.”
It was Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone, followed by Frederica Sutherland and the American sisters.
“What’s been going on?” asked Margaret. “All this running to and fro and the constabulary are here again.”
Rose told her story again and then said, “They believe the body in the moat is that of Colette.”
Margaret swayed and the American sisters thrust her down into a chair and put smelling salts under her nose.
“I’m leaving today,” said Frederica.
“Won’t be possible,” said Harriet Peterson. “We’ve all to be interviewed by the police. I phoned my aunt in London and she’s coming down here. You’d best phone