no idea his granny was still alive, let alone in Kingsmarkham, but he was looking up somebody in the phone book, in the line of business, sir, and there it was; Mrs. Rose Primero, Victor's Piece. Once he'd come over there was no stopping him. Not that we wanted to stop him, sir. Pretty nearly every Sunday he came and once or twice he fetched his little sisters all the way from London and brought them with him. Good as gold they were.
"Mr. Roger and madam, they used to have some laughs together. All the old photographs they'd have out and the tales she used to tell him!" She stopped suddenly and Archery watched the old face swell and grow purple. "It was a change for us to have a nice gentlemanlike young fellow about the place after that Painter." Her voice changed to a shrill whistling shriek. That dirty murdering beast!"
Across the ward another old woman in a bed like Alice Flower's smiled a toothless smile as of one hearing a familiar tale retold. The ward's bedtime story, the sister had said.
Archery leant towards her. "That was a dreadful day, Miss Flower," he said, "the day Mrs. Primero died." The fierce eyes flickered, red and spongey blue. "I expect you feel you'll never forget it..."
"Not to my dying day," said Alice Flower. Perhaps she thought of the now useless body that had once been so fine an instrument and was already three-quarters dead.
"Will you tell me about it?"
As soon as she began he realised how often she must have told it before. It was likely that some of these other old women were not absolutely bedridden, that sometimes in the evenings they got up and gathered round Alice Flower's bed. A tale, he thought, paraphrasing, to draw children from play and old women from the chimney corner.
"He was a devil," she said, "a terror. I was scared of him but I never let him know it. Take all and give nothing, that was his motto. Six pounds a year, that was all I got when I first went out into service. Him, he had his home and his wages, a lovely motor to drive. There's some folks want the moon. You'd think a big strong young fellow like that'd be only too glad to fetch the coal in for an old lady, but not Mr. Bert Painter. Beast Painter was what I called him.
"That Saturday night when he never come and he never come madam had to sit all by herself in the icy cold. Let me go over and speak to him, madam, I said, but she wouldn't have it. The morning's time enough, Alice, she said. I've said to myself over and over again, if he'd come that night I'd have been in there with them. He wouldn't have been able to tell no lies then."
"But he did come the next morning, Miss Flower..."
"She told him off good and proper. I could hear her giving him a dressing down."
"What were you doing?"
"Me? When he come in first I was doing the vegetables for madam's lunch, then I popped on the oven and put in the meat tin. They asked me all that at the court in London, the Old Bailey it was." She paused and there was suspicion in the look she gave him. "You writing a book about it all, are you, sir?"
"Something like that," said Archery.
"They wanted to know if I was sure I could hear all right. My hearing's better than that judge's, I can tell you. Just as well it is. If I'd been hard of hearing we might have all gone up in smoke that morning."
"How was that?"
"Beast Painter was in the drawing room with madam and I'd gone into the larder to get the vinegar for the mint sauce, when all of a sudden I heard a kind of a plop and sizzle. That's that funny old oven, I said, and sure enough it was. I popped back quick and opened the oven door. One of the potatoes had kind of spat out, sir, and fallen on the gas. All in flames it was and sizzling and roaring like a steam engine. I turned it off quick and then I did a silly thing. Poured water on it. Ought to have known better at my age. Ooh, the racket and the smoke! You couldn't hear yourself think."
There had been nothing about that in the trial transcript. Archery caught his
"Mr. Roger and madam, they used to have some laughs together. All the old photographs they'd have out and the tales she used to tell him!" She stopped suddenly and Archery watched the old face swell and grow purple. "It was a change for us to have a nice gentlemanlike young fellow about the place after that Painter." Her voice changed to a shrill whistling shriek. That dirty murdering beast!"
Across the ward another old woman in a bed like Alice Flower's smiled a toothless smile as of one hearing a familiar tale retold. The ward's bedtime story, the sister had said.
Archery leant towards her. "That was a dreadful day, Miss Flower," he said, "the day Mrs. Primero died." The fierce eyes flickered, red and spongey blue. "I expect you feel you'll never forget it..."
"Not to my dying day," said Alice Flower. Perhaps she thought of the now useless body that had once been so fine an instrument and was already three-quarters dead.
"Will you tell me about it?"
As soon as she began he realised how often she must have told it before. It was likely that some of these other old women were not absolutely bedridden, that sometimes in the evenings they got up and gathered round Alice Flower's bed. A tale, he thought, paraphrasing, to draw children from play and old women from the chimney corner.
"He was a devil," she said, "a terror. I was scared of him but I never let him know it. Take all and give nothing, that was his motto. Six pounds a year, that was all I got when I first went out into service. Him, he had his home and his wages, a lovely motor to drive. There's some folks want the moon. You'd think a big strong young fellow like that'd be only too glad to fetch the coal in for an old lady, but not Mr. Bert Painter. Beast Painter was what I called him.
"That Saturday night when he never come and he never come madam had to sit all by herself in the icy cold. Let me go over and speak to him, madam, I said, but she wouldn't have it. The morning's time enough, Alice, she said. I've said to myself over and over again, if he'd come that night I'd have been in there with them. He wouldn't have been able to tell no lies then."
"But he did come the next morning, Miss Flower..."
"She told him off good and proper. I could hear her giving him a dressing down."
"What were you doing?"
"Me? When he come in first I was doing the vegetables for madam's lunch, then I popped on the oven and put in the meat tin. They asked me all that at the court in London, the Old Bailey it was." She paused and there was suspicion in the look she gave him. "You writing a book about it all, are you, sir?"
"Something like that," said Archery.
"They wanted to know if I was sure I could hear all right. My hearing's better than that judge's, I can tell you. Just as well it is. If I'd been hard of hearing we might have all gone up in smoke that morning."
"How was that?"
"Beast Painter was in the drawing room with madam and I'd gone into the larder to get the vinegar for the mint sauce, when all of a sudden I heard a kind of a plop and sizzle. That's that funny old oven, I said, and sure enough it was. I popped back quick and opened the oven door. One of the potatoes had kind of spat out, sir, and fallen on the gas. All in flames it was and sizzling and roaring like a steam engine. I turned it off quick and then I did a silly thing. Poured water on it. Ought to have known better at my age. Ooh, the racket and the smoke! You couldn't hear yourself think."
There had been nothing about that in the trial transcript. Archery caught his
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