see.’
‘Thank you so much.’
Roberta hurried away and found time confusedly to marvel at Charlot’s command of her nerves and of the situation. The Lampreys, she thought hurriedly, do rise to situations. She delivered the message to the maids. Now she must return to the landing. The lift was still open. Roberta stood stock-still with her hands on the doors, drilling her thoughts, telling them that he was gone, that she must look inside the lift. And, with a great effort, she lifted her head and looked. A little above the place where Lord Wutherwood had sat was a bright steel boss in the lift wall. In the centre of the boss was a small hollow which seemed to be stained. As she stared at it the stain grew longer. She heard a tap, a tiny dab of sound. She looked at the leather top of the seat. In the dent made by Lord Wutherwood she saw a little black pool where his blood had dropped from the stain on the wall. Back to the pantry, running as fast as she could go. A yellow duster. Then the lift again. It had looked so small a pool but it spread into her cloth and smeared over the leather. Now the wall. She heard a bell ringing. That would be someone who wanted the lift. Back on the landing, she slammed the doors and the lift at once sank beneath her fingers. Henry came out from 26 and looked at the cloth in her hands. He seemed like a figure in a dream and spoke like one.
‘Clever, Robin,’ said Henry. ‘But it won’t do much good, you know. You can’t wipe away murder.’
Roberta had pushed that word out of her thought. She said: ‘It’s not that – I mean I wasn’t trying to do that. Only people will be using the lift. It looked so frightful.’ Henry took the cloth from her.
‘There’s a fire in the dining-room,’ he said.
Roberta remembered her errands. ‘Have you seen Tinkerton and Giggle?’
‘I don’t think they’re in the flat. Why?’
‘They must be in the car. Charlot wants them told.’
‘I’ll go,’ Henry offered.
‘No, please. If you’ll do – that.’
‘All right,’ said Henry and went away with the cloth. Roberta was running downstairs. Four landings with blank walls and steel numbers. Long windows. Heavy carpet under her feet. The lift passed her, bearing an immobile man in an overcoat and a bowler hat, carrying a bag in his hand. Now the entrance hall with the porter who looked bewildered and perturbed and stared at Roberta. She remembered his name.
‘Oh, Stamford, have you seen Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur?’
‘Yes, Miss. He’s in his lordship’s car. My Gawd, Miss, what’s gone wrong?’
‘Someone has been taken ill.’
‘The screaming, Miss. It was something frightful.’
‘I know. A fit of hysterics. We’re sorry about the lift. There’s been an accident.’
Better, she thought, to say something about it. The doctor might have said something. She walked quickly through the entrance into the street. The sun had set on London and there was an evening coolness in the air. The sensation of dream receded a little. There was the car, a large grand car with Giggle sitting at the wheel and a woman in a drab hat beside him. They did not notice Roberta and she had to tap on the window, making them jump. Giggle got out and came round to her, touching his cap.
‘Giggle,’ Roberta began, wishing he had another name, ‘there’s been an accident.’
He looked at her, maddeningly stolid.
‘An accident, Miss?’
‘Yes, to Lord Wutherwood. He’s hurt himself. Lady Charles thinks you had better come up.’
‘Yes, Miss. Will Miss Tinkerton be needed, Miss?’
Roberta didn’t know. She said: ‘I think perhaps you should both come. Lady Wutherwood may want Tinkerton.’
They followed her into the hall. The lift was down again. Stamford opened the doors. Conquering a sudden and violent reluctance, Roberta went in. She saw that the two servants were preparing to walk up. English servants, she thought, and said: ‘Will you both come up in the lift, please?’
They got in and Giggle pressed the button. Tinkerton was a small woman with black eyes and a guarded expression. They won’t speak until I do, thought Roberta.
‘The doctor has come,’ she said. ‘It’s an upset, isn’t it?’
They both said: ‘Yes, Miss,’ and Tinkerton added in a mumbling voice, ‘Is her ladyship much hurt, Miss?’
‘It’s not her ladyship,’ said Roberta, ‘it’s his lordship.’ She remembered insanely that someone once said you had to use ‘Your Majesty’ in every phrase of a letter written to the king. Your Majesty, your lordship, his lordship, her ladyship.
‘His lordship, Miss?’
‘Yes. He has hurt his head. I don’t really know what happened.’
‘No, Miss.’
The lift reached the top landing. Roberta felt as if she was followed by two embarrassingly large dogs. She asked them to wait and left them standing woodenly on the landing.
Now she was back in the flat and didn’t know where to go. Perhaps Patch and Mike were still in the dining-room. She stood in the hall and listened. There was a murmur of voices in the drawing-room. Baskett came along the passage carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses. Extraordinary sight, thought Roberta. Can they possibly have settled down for another glass of sherry? Baskett dated from the New Zealand days, he was an old friend of Roberta’s and she did not feel shy with him.
‘Baskett, who’s in the drawing-room?’
‘The family, Miss, with the exception of his lordship. His lordship is with the doctor, Miss.’
‘And Lady Wutherwood?’
‘I understand her ladyship is lying down, Miss.’
Baskett lingered for a moment looking down in a kindly and human manner at Roberta.
‘The family will be glad to have you with them, Miss Robin,’ he said.
‘Have you heard how – how he is?’
‘He seemed to be unconscious, Miss when we carried him into his lordship’s dressing-room. But alive. I haven’t heard any further report.’
‘No. Baskett?’
‘Yes, Miss?’
‘What was the matter with – his eye?’
The network of thread-like veins across Baskett’s cheekbones started out against his bleached skin. The glasses on the tray jingled.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Miss. You’ll only upset yourself.’
He opened the drawing-room door and stood
