MARIE BELLOC LOWNDES - British Murder Mysteries Collection: 17 Books in One Edition. Marie Belloc Lowndes
most unexpected happenings in the course of her work. And Nurse Bradfield, though in a sense she had had an uneventful career, had yet been more than once very much startled and surprised by the astonishing things people will sometimes do.
She sat down, now, on the bed, and put her arms round the slender figure, still shaken by angry, frightened sobs.
“I know how you’re feeling, Mrs. Lexton,” she whispered. “I, too, can’t get Dr. Gretorex out of my mind. But there’s still a chance, you know, that something may be found out, even now. I mean between now and his appeal. Mrs. Berwick told me last night that she knows some great friends of Sir Joseph Molloy, and that he honestly does believe Dr. Gretorex to be innocent. She says that Sir Joseph is going to leave no stone unturned to try to prove his innocence. He’s in a terrible state about it all, and he was very distressed at Dr. Gretorex refusing to give evidence on his own behalf.”
“But you think he did it, don’t you, nurse?”
Ivy lifted her tear-stained eyes and gazed at the older woman.
“I did think so,” muttered Nurse Bradfield. “And even now I can’t see any other explanation. You and I know quite well that Mr. Lexton was not the sort of man to do away with himself.”
“Of course he wasn’t!” exclaimed Ivy, with a touch of indignation.
The nurse sighed. “Such extraordinary things do happen in life,” she observed.
“What is it Sir Joseph Molloy thinks he can find out? Did Mrs. Berwick tell you that?” asked Ivy.
She put the question in a careless tone, but she really wanted to know; indeed she was very, very anxious to discover what it was that Sir Joseph Molloy meant to do.
“What he says he means to find out,” said the nurse, “is whether there wasn’t some other person in the world who had a motive for getting rid of Mr. Lexton, besides Dr. Gretorex. He’s got a sort of an idea that there must have been someone else—someone who’s not been thought of yet—someone whose name didn’t appear in the case.”
And then was heard a hesitating knock on the door, and the maid came in again, looking very much subdued.
On the silver salver lay what had become Ivy’s daily cable from South Africa.
She saw a curious look flash over Nurse Bradfield’s face. As a matter of fact, those daily cables were a source of much interest and speculation to the household, now composed, apart from Ivy, of three women. It was the more mysterious as Mrs. Lexton never left those thick telegrams lying about. The daily cable always disappeared within a comparatively short time of her receipt of the buff-coloured envelope.
Ivy did not open the envelope. She put it on a little table by the side of her bed, and went on talking and listening.
“Everyone in Court admired the way you gave your evidence, Mrs. Lexton. Mr. Paxton–Smith told me you were the best witness he had ever had. Indeed, he said that you were just perfection! Not too shy, and not too bold. So clear, too! Every word you said could be heard, even where I was sitting.”
And then the speaker added, with considerable heat, “Some of the people there seemed to me like hyenas! Blood—blood—blood—that’s what they wanted, the horrid ghouls! Why, there was a man just behind me who said he hoped that Sir Joseph would make mincemeat of you——”
“I know that some of them wanted that,” murmured Ivy.
“The story goes,” went on Nurse Bradfield, “that Dr. Gretorex begged Sir Joseph to leave you alone.”
“I wonder if he did?”
That had not occurred to Ivy. But now, of course, she knew this to be almost certainly the reason Sir Joseph had been so—so unlike what everyone had expected him to be.
And then there did come over her a little glimmer of gratitude. Yes, Roger certainly loved her. No one would ever care for her as he cared. She remembered, now, his having once said that he would go through any torture in order to save her a moment’s pain. Well? Poor Roger hadn’t really gone through torture exactly—that sort of thing has been given up long ago, luckily. Still, it was very touching that, even in his own time of danger, he had thought of her and of her reputation.
After Nurse Bradfield had left the room, and after Ivy’s light breakfast had been brought in and arranged on the bed-table, she broke open Rushworth’s cable.
My sister died yesterday. Sailing for home the day after tomorrow. Will keep you advised by wireless of exact date of my return. I have been thinking of you night and day.
Rushworth coming back now, almost at once? Small wonder that a feeling of ecstasy flooded Ivy Lexton’s whole being. She had gone through a terrible ordeal, but that which was already in sight would make up for everything.
She jumped out of bed and locked her door. Then she went over to the fireplace, and watched the flimsy sheets curl up and become thin and black in the flames. After the first, she had always burnt each of Rushworth’s cables as soon as she had read it through. Somehow it seemed to her safer to do so.
Unlocking the door, she rang for the maid to put on her bath, for she wanted to go out and telegraph to Miles Rushworth.
It was half-past ten when Ivy came back to the flat.
“There’s a young lady to see you in the drawing-room, ma’am,” said the maid.
Ivy walked into the room smiling, for she expected to see waiting for her one of the many women belonging to her old, idle, easy life. Why shouldn’t they go out together shopping, and then come back to lunch?
But the smile froze on her face, for it was a stranger who rose and confronted her. Certainly a stranger, and yet somehow she had a disturbing feeling that she had seen her visitor before, and in disagreeable circumstances.
Then all at once, with a feeling of sharp annoyance, she realised that this was the girl who had been sitting with Mrs. Gretorex during the concluding hours of Roger’s trial yesterday. And when she, Ivy, and Roger’s mother had met face to face in a corridor of the Old Bailey, the stranger had been there too.
“I hope you’ll forgive my coming in this way without having first asked if you would see me,” said Enid Dent. “But the matter is very urgent, Mrs. Lexton, and the time is short, very short, between now and Roger Gretorex’s appeal, otherwise I feel sure Mrs. Gretorex would have come herself. Unfortunately, she is ill today.”
As Ivy still said nothing, only looked at her with an expression of fear, and yes, of dislike, on her lovely face, Enid exclaimed desperately, “I am sure you would do anything to help Roger Gretorex, Mrs. Lexton?”
And then Ivy did what all through her life she had often done, when in doubt. She burst into tears.
“Of course, I’d do anything,” she sobbed, “anything I could do! But what can I do? I’ve gone through such an awful time. No one knows what I’ve gone through, or how miserable I’ve been. No one thinks of me!” she ended hysterically. “I feel as if I hadn’t a friend in the world——”
Enid went up close to her, and touched her on the arm.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a troubled tone. “I know how terrible it must have been for you yesterday.”
She felt ashamed of what she had been led to believe by Mr. Finch an hour ago. It seemed incredible to her that the poor little creature before her, now trembling with emotion, could have acted the cruel part Alfred Finch and Sir Joseph believed she was acting, shielding the real murderer of her husband, and condemning an innocent man to a frightful death.
Ivy saw that she had made a good impression, and she became gradually calm.
Her one object was to get rid of this tiresome girl quietly. It had been stupid, very stupid, of the maid to allow a stranger to come in and wait, without knowing anything of her business. After all, this girl didn’t look in the least like one of her, Ivy’s, smart friends. Enid looked,