John Rhode – Mystery at Olympia (страница 5)

Mrs Markle rose, with a swift movement characteristic of her. Leaving Mrs Rugg gasping in her chair she hurried along the passage towards the kitchen. Jessie Twyford was the parlourmaid, a pretty girl, the daughter of the postman, on whose recommendation she had been engaged. Mrs Markle, in spite of her haste, found time to wonder what could be the matter with Jessie. She had been all right, barely an hour before, when Mrs Markle had helped her to give the dining-room an extra turn out. Certainly Mrs Markle had noticed nothing amiss then. Besides, the Twyfords were a highly respectable family. Could it be?

She reached the kitchen, with these dark suspicions still unresolved. And, at first glance, she could see that Jessie was in a very bad way. She had collapsed into a chair, out of which she seemed to be in danger of slipping every moment. She had been very sick, and a hoarse moaning sound escaped from her parched throat.

A cursory inspection satisfied Mrs Markle that her suspicions were unfounded. ‘Why, Jessie, whatever’s the matter?’ she asked, as she bent over the girl.

‘Oh, Mrs Markle, I’m going to die!’ Jessie replied despairingly, between her moans.

‘A strong girl like you doesn’t die as easily as all that,’ said Mrs Markle cheerfully. She beckoned to the kitchenmaid, a strapping wench, who was standing by helplessly, with eyes wide open in horror. ‘Take hold of her under the knees, Kate,’ she continued. ‘That’s right. We’ll carry her on to the sofa in the servants’ hall.’

Jessie wailed piteously as they lifted her, but she seemed a little more comfortable when she had been deposited on the sofa. ‘Now then, Kate, look sharp!’ said Mrs Markle. ‘Fill a couple of hot-water bottles, and put them on her stomach. Then see if she can drink a drop of water, while I go and telephone for Doctor Formby.’

She hurried away to the telephone. Doctor Formby, who lived a short distance away, and upon whose panel were all the members of the domestic staff at Firlands, was at lunch. On hearing Mrs Markle’s account of Jessie’s symptoms, he promised to come round at once.

Mrs Markle returned to her patient. Jessie was suffering from a parching thirst, but every mouthful of water she managed to take caused a return of her sickness. She complained of cramp in the limbs, and continually tossed about to obtain relief. Mrs Markle was doing her best to make her comfortable when Doctor Formby arrived.

He felt the girl’s pulse and looked at her tongue. Then he issued hurried instructions to Mrs Markle. Between them, they managed to wash out the remaining contents of the girl’s stomach. Then Doctor Formby gave her an injection, and watched her until it had taken effect. He turned to Mrs Markle. ‘She’s been sick, you say?’ he asked.

‘Terrible sick, doctor,’ the housekeeper replied. ‘All over the kitchen floor.’

‘Well, don’t let them clear it up just yet. I shall want a specimen. Have you got any weed-killer in the house?’

‘Weed-killer! No, there’s none in the house. Bulstrode, that does the garden, may have some in the potting-shed. But I could easily send one of the girls into the town to buy some, if you’re wanting it.’

‘No, I don’t want it,’ replied Doctor Formby slowly. He wondered if it were safe to confide in Mrs Markle, and decided that it was. He knew her as a sensible woman, who could hold her tongue, and was not in the habit of becoming panic-stricken. ‘I asked if you had any weed-killer in the house because I wondered whether Jessie could have taken any,’ he continued. ‘I don’t want you to say anything to anybody else, Mrs Markle. But, between ourselves, this looks to me very like a case of acute arsenical poisoning.’

Mrs Markle gave him a horrified glance. ‘Arsenic!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s never been anything like that in the house, to my knowledge.’

‘I can’t be certain, until I’ve had time to make a test,’ replied Doctor Formby. ‘But it’s only fair to warn you that I’m pretty sure of it. The point is, where did the stuff come from? She hasn’t seemed depressed or anything lately, has she?’

‘Jessie? Why, she’s the most cheerful girl I’ve ever had to do with. Always laughing and singing about the place.’

‘None of the other girls got a grudge against her, by any chance?’

Mrs Markle shook her head decidedly. ‘Everybody who knows Jessie likes her,’ she replied.

‘Well, she must have taken it accidentally. Don’t let any of the others have any dinner. It won’t do them any harm to starve for a few hours. And try to find out what she’s had to eat today. I shall stay with her for the present, till I see how things go.’

Mrs Markle went off to find the cook, whom she questioned closely. Jessie had had the same breakfast as the rest, none of whom had felt any ill effects. She had had a cup of tea at eleven, from a teapot which Mrs Rugg herself had shared with her. ‘And apart from that, she’s had nothing from my larder,’ concluded the cook with conviction.

The housekeeper went up to Jessie’s room and searched it diligently. She found nothing whatever to eat or drink, not even a biscuit or a packet of sweets. Then she returned to the servants’ hall, and made her report to Doctor Formby.

‘Well, it’s very queer,’ said the doctor. ‘Stay with her for a minute or two, will you, Mrs Markle? I’ll go and collect my specimen, and then the mess can be cleared up.’

He returned with a sealed jar, which he put in his bag. Then he resumed his vigil by the sofa, holding the unconscious girl’s wrist. Not until half-past three did he pronounce his verdict. ‘She’ll pull through now, I think,’ he said. ‘She’d better not be moved for the present, but keep her as warm as you can. I’ll send a nurse round, and come round myself in a few hours’ time.’ He paused, and looked fixedly at Mrs Markle. ‘I’m going back home now to test this specimen. You realise that if the test confirms the presence of arsenic, I shall have to inform the police?’

Mrs Markle bowed her grey head silently. The idea of the police had been in her mind ever since the ominous word arsenic had first been mentioned. But, whatever would Mr Pershore say?

A rather awkward pause ensued, broken by a timid knocking on the door. ‘Who’s there?’ Mrs Markle called out sharply.

‘It’s me, Kate, Mrs Markle. Sergeant Draper’s here, and he’s asking to see you.’

Doctor Formby and Mrs Markle exchanged startled glances. Sergeant Draper was a genial officer from the local police station. This was talking of the devil, with a vengeance. Had news of Jessie’s attack and its cause got abroad already?’

‘We’ll see him together,’ said the doctor, with sudden determination. ‘I don’t want this girl left alone. It had better be in here.’

Mrs Markle nodded. ‘Bring the sergeant down here, will you, Kate?’ she called.

Again that awkward pause, till the door opened and Sergeant Draper appeared. He was a massive, imposing-looking person, and usually wore an expression of the utmost cheerfulness. But now his countenance was one of portentous solemnity.

His eyebrows went up in astonishment as he recognised Doctor Formby and the unconscious girl on the sofa. ‘I beg pardon for intruding, I’m sure,’ he exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know that there was anybody taken bad in the house. Why, ’tis Jessie Twyford, surely!’ He took a step forward towards the sofa, then hurriedly checked himself, but his eyes remained fixed upon Jessie’s ashen face.

‘You didn’t know?’ said Doctor Formby slowly. ‘Then what brings you here, sergeant?’

Sergeant Draper averted his gaze from the girl, and fixed it on Mrs Markle. ‘It’s sorrowful news I bring,’ he replied. ‘Do you know where Mr Pershore went today, Mrs Markle?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Mr Pershore doesn’t consult me on his comings and goings. To his office, likely enough. He usually goes there on Monday mornings.’

‘You didn’t know that he’d gone to the Motor Show, then?’

‘No, I didn’t. But why shouldn’t he, if he wanted to? It’s more than once that he’s spoken of buying a car.’

‘Well, however it may be, he did go to Olympia. They’ve just rung up the station from there.’

‘Rung up? What should they ring up for?’ And then a sudden comprehension of the sergeant’s meaning dawned upon Mrs Markle. ‘There’s—there’s nothing happened to Mr Pershore, is there?’ she whispered urgently.

The sergeant lowered his head. ‘He’s dead, ma’am,’ he replied gently. ‘Fainted away suddenly, and passed off without a bit of pain.’

Mrs Markle’s face contracted, but apart from that she gave no sign. Her experiences before she became Mr Pershore’s housekeeper had taught her to bear the hardest blows of Fate without complaint. The two men, watching her, had no indication of what was passing through her mind. Memories of childhood, perhaps. Nahum’s arm about her waist in that almost forgotten builder’s yard. Or of the future, stretching interminably into lonely old age, pervaded with the smell of soap-suds and dishwater.

Doctor Formby was the first to make any move. He took Mrs Markle’s arm and led her to a chair. Then he opened his bag, uncorked a bottle, and poured some of its contents into a glass. ‘Drink this!’ he said.