I Could Murder Her

E. C. R. Lorac

• Publisher: Rare Treasure Editions
• Year: 2021
• eBook ISBN: 9781774644959
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

Muriel Farrington is a domineering woman who, unfortunately for them, has her entire family living with her in her stately home. She tries, often successfully, to run the lives of her children, her stepchildren, her in-laws, and her husband, and she seems to be despised by all except her husband and one son.When she is found dead one morning in her bed, the family doctor, who is old, ill, and hasn't been very able for years, is unable to attend and bestow a certificate, which he would have done without investigation or thought.A younger, more able and perceptive doctor has to be called in, to the shock of whoever the murderer was, and he does not find the death natural.A hypodermic puncture in her arm leads him to believe, correctly as it turns out, that someone has injected insulin into the woman. Since she was not suffering from diabetes, death was the inevitable result.

THREE

“I wish you’d come in and have a look at Muriel, Madge. I don’t want you to think I’m an old fuss-pot, but I don’t feel quite happy about her,” said Colonel Farrington apologetically.

It was eleven o’clock at night, and Madge was just going up to bed; she carried a glass in her hand and she answered: “Of course, if you want me to, though I assure you there’s no need to bother about Mother’s heart. It’s quite as good as mine. I forgot to take her barley water up; it’s here. Is she awake?”

“No. She’s asleep. Very heavily asleep. Baring gave her some sleeping tablets, because she complained of heart pains. I always hate dope of any kind, and I don’t like the look of her. She’s a very bad colour.”

“Poor old Daddy! How you do worry!” said Madge. “All quite unnecessary. Mother’s a typical hypochondriac, that’s all.”

“You’re a little hard, Madge—but then, of course, you do understand these things,” said the Colonel. “I’m an old fool, and I know it, but I was worried in case she’d taken too much of the beastly stuff. Baring was suggesting a consultation about her heart.”

“Consultation my hat! Mother was certainly upset when I told her I wasn’t going on slaving here indefinitely, but her heart symptoms are just temper,” replied Madge.

Colonel and Mrs. Farrington had the ground floor of Windermere House as their own flat, now that other floors were occupied by Anne and Joyce and their respective husbands. Madge opened the bedroom door very quietly and went up to Mrs. Farrington’s bed. A shaded hand lamp cast a soft glow on the sleeping woman, and Madge stood looking down at her. Mrs. Farrington was breathing rather heavily, and her husband whispered uneasily: “Do you think I ought to ring up Baring?”

“No. Of course not. Sleeping draughts often make patients breathe heavily. Baring wouldn’t have given her anything that wasn’t perfectly safe. Don’t worry, Daddy. Go to bed and forget all about her. You may get a full night’s sleep yourself for a change. I know she generally wakes you up about half a dozen times.”

“The poor soul’s a very bad sleeper,” said the Colonel. “All right, my dear. Thank you for reassuring me. You’re a good girl, Madge.” He kissed her forehead gently, and Madge whispered:

“I’m far from good—but never mind. Sleep well, Daddy, and don’t worry.”

2

“Madge, Madge, will you come at once, my dear? I’m afraid . . .”

Madge was sitting on the edge of her bed in her dressing gown when her father opened her bedroom door a crack and spoke in an urgent whisper. It had just struck six o’clock, and the March dawn was breaking, clear and luminous, while blackbirds shouted outside in the plane trees. Madge always got up at six, and did two hours’ housework before breakfast.

“All right, Daddy. Come in. What is it?”

Colonel Farrington, his face grey, his hair tousled, came into the room in his dressing gown.

“She’s dead, Madge. Dead and cold. . . . I just went in to her.”

Madge stood up and gave one glance at her father’s face; then, without a word, she hurried to the door and ran down the stairs and into her mother’s room with Colonel Farrington behind her.

The hand lamp was alight beside the bed, but the heavy curtains were still pulled across the windows, and Madge went and drew the curtains back in two swift movements, so that the dawn-light flooded into the room from the long bay windows. She went quietly to the bed and put her hand on Muriel Farrington’s shoulder. Then she looked up and met her father’s anxious eyes.

“I’m sorry, Daddy: you’re right. She’s been dead for hours. She must have died in her sleep, perfectly peacefully.”

Glancing down at the big double bed, Madge added: “You slept in your dressing room, then?”

The Colonel nodded. “Yes. She thought it best. You see, she took her sleeping tablet early, and said I might wake her up when I came to bed. I had my door open, of course, but I didn’t hear a sound, though I am a very light sleeper. Do you think she might have called me, Madge, and I——”

“No. Of course not. She hadn’t moved even; she’s just as she was when I saw her. Oh, but she drank her barley water——”

“No, dear. I drank it,” said the Colonel. “I woke up just before six and crept in here: I couldn’t hear her breathing and I switched the hand lamp on. It was a shock. Madge. I picked up the glass and drank the stuff because my throat went dry. We’d been married over thirty-five years, you know, and—well, I was just knocked sideways.”

Madge went round the bed and took her father’s arm. “I know, Daddy. I understand. Come with me and I’ll get you a hot drink. You need it. We can’t do anything in here. Everything must be left until the doctor comes—it’s better so. I’ll ring up Dr. Baring as soon as I’ve given you a drink.”

He stood beside the bed a moment longer and then said slowly: “She died in her sleep, didn’t she, Madge, without knowing anything about it? I’m glad of that, because she feared to die. She looks so peaceful, no pain or struggle. Just passing out . . .”

Madge squeezed his arm. “Yes, Daddy: a continuation of sleep: the best way to die. Death that way is merciful. Now come with me; you’re cold and exhausted. Let me look after you and deal with everything.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied gently.

Madge took her father downstairs to the basement kitchen, because it was warm there. She opened up the boiler fire and coaxed it to a cheerful glow with handfuls of kindling. She filled the electric kettle with hot water from the tap and it started singing almost at once.

Colonel Farrington sat by the stove, his face very grey and old, murmuring to himself: “Thirty-five years . . . It’s a long time. I often wondered which of us would go first. Better this way, perhaps. She’d have missed me, wouldn’t she, Madge?”

“Yes, Daddy. You’ve been perfect to her; never impatient, never irritable. She’d have been lost without you. Now drink this; it’s hot and it’ll do you good. I’ll go and telephone Dr. Baring.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied again.

Madge went into the drawing room, where the telephone instrument stood on a table beside Mrs. Farrington’s couch, conveniently placed for the “nice little chats” she had with her friends. As she picked up the receiver, Madge was aware of a feeling of astonishment as she realised that never again would she hear Muriel Farrington’s cultured voice holding those interminable telephone conversations. “Never again . . .” she murmured to herself as she dialled the doctor’s number. The voice which spoke to her was not Dr. Baring’s, and she repeated his name.

“Dr. Scott speaking,” was the reply. “Dr. Baring is laid up. What is it?”

Madge was conscious of a shock: she had been so certain that she would hear old Dr. Baring’s husky, fussy, consequential voice. Dr. Scott was his new partner, a very clever young surgeon with a brusque habit of speech and no nonsense about a bedside manner.

“This is Miss Farrington speaking, from Windermere House. My stepmother, Mrs. Farrington, has died in her sleep. Dr. Baring saw her yesterday; her heart had been giving her a lot of pain. I thought it better to let Dr. Baring know at once, before we have her moved. She was alone when she died.”

“Mrs. Farrington . . .” he said slowly. “I examined her once, a few months ago. Her heart was sound enough then. All right. I’ll come along shortly.”

“Dr. Baring is not well enough to come?” asked Madge. “He saw her only yesterday. . . .”

“Dr. Baring had a motor smash. He is still unconscious, so you’ll have to put up with me.”

“Thank you,” said Madge evenly, and hung up the receiver. Dr. Scott was like that, an awkward customer, deliberately gauche and difficult. Madge remembered how furious he had made Mrs. Farrington. She went back to the kitchen. Her father was still sitting crouching over the fire, but his face was a better colour now, and he no longer shivered.

“You look warmer now, Daddy. Have another mug of tea.”

“Thank you, my dear. I expect the news came as a shock to poor old Baring. He’d known Muriel nearly all her life.”

“It wasn’t Dr. Baring who answered the phone, Daddy. It was Dr. Scott. Baring has had a motor smash.”

“Heavens! What an extraordinary thing. I was thinking how shaky he looked yesterday—too old to drive a car. Was he badly hurt, poor old chap?”

“I don’t know. Dr. Scott is coming round himself.”

“Scott? But Muriel didn’t like him, dear.”

“I know she didn’t, Daddy, but never mind about that now. Here’s your tea. I’ve put heaps of sugar in it; it’s good for you.”

The Colonel drank his tea gratefully: he had a very sweet tooth, and his wife had never allowed him to take liberties with the sugar. Then Madge said:

“We’d better get things quite clear before Dr. Scott comes, Daddy. You know how abrupt and disconcerting he is. About those sleeping tablets. Do you know how many there were in the box?”

“Yes, my dear. There were eight. I gave your mother one, and the rest are in the box on the mantelpiece in my dressing room. I took them out of her room because I don’t trust the beastly things. I was afraid she might take another by mistake.”

“That’s all right, then,” said Madge. “Did she take any other medicine last night?”

“Just our senna tea, dear. Muriel always made it, and we shared it between us, half a glass each.”

“I remember,” said Madge. “Now you’d better go and dress, Daddy. I’ll come up with you and find your things, and you can dress in the bathroom. I’ll let Dr. Scott in and fetch you if he wants you.”

3

“Those are the tablets, my dear,” said Colonel Farrington, lifting the little round box from the mantelpiece in his dressing room. “There are seven left, just as I said.”

“I see. Put them back where they were,” said Madge. “Now go and have a wash and get dressed.”

He obeyed her like a child, and when he had closed the bathroom door Madge went into her stepmother’s room and drew the bedclothes down a little. The waxen face was untroubled, the eyes shut, the jaw in place, supported by the pillows, for the dead woman lay on her side. She wore an old-fashioned cambric nightdress and a dainty knitted sleeping jacket. The loose sleeve of the latter was crumpled up a little, leaving the forearm bare. In the blue-veined arm was a tiny red spot—a recent puncture from a hypodermic needle. Madge stared at it, standing very still, then she replaced the bedclothes as they had been before.

She caught sight of her own face in the mirror, and went to the dressing table to smooth her hair. Her long dressing gown fastened with a zip from hem to throat, and now her hair was combed through she looked perfectly tidy. She went outside into the hall, and to her surprise she saw Paula standing at the foot of the stairs. It was most unusual for Paula to appear before ten o’clock in the morning.

“Is anything the matter?” Paula almost gasped out her words.

“Why do you ask, and what made you get up at this hour?” asked Madge.

“I heard you come downstairs.”

“I always come downstairs at six o’clock. You don’t generally find it necessary to come down yourself.”

“Oh, Madge, don’t be beastly. I had a bad dream or something. Is Mother all right?”

“Go back to bed,” said Madge tersely. “The doctor’s just coming, that’s his car. You’ve only got a nightdress on and not much of that. Go back to your room before I open the front door.”

“Madge—is she dead?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Paula did not answer. Instead she turned and ran upstairs, her chiffon nightdress shimmering over her white body.

Madge went to the front door and drew the bolts. Dr. Scott was just running up the flight of steps outside.

“Good morning, Miss Farrington. May I have a word with you? This must have been a shock to you.”

“Please come in, Doctor.” Madge led him to the drawing room.

“You are a state registered nurse, I believe,” he said, and she nodded.

“Then you would know if Mrs. Farrington’s heart had deteriorated of late?”

“I only know that Dr. Baring said it had deteriorated. My stepmother did not expect, or need, any nursing. Apart from the fact that she rested a good deal and avoided exertion, she led quite a normal life.”

“Have you had any experience of heart cases?”

“Obviously. All nurses have, but I never specialised in that line. I did theatre work.”

“Quite. You can see I must make some inquiries, because Mrs. Farrington was not my patient, and Dr. Baring is in no state to give information. Speaking from your nursing experience, did you think Mrs. Farrington’s heart was likely to give out?”

Madge faced him steadily. “Her death was a great surprise to me. I didn’t take her heart pains very seriously, because she was of the hypochondriac type. Obviously I was wrong, but hearts are often incalculable.”

“Admittedly. I take it you saw Dr. Baring when he called yesterday?”

“No. I did not. I hardly ever saw him. My stepmother preferred to see him alone. As I run this house and do the cooking as well, I don’t leave my work unless I am needed, but my father saw Dr. Baring and he will be able to tell you what he said.”

“Did Dr. Baring prescribe any medicine?”

“He gave my stepmother some sleeping tablets. She took one. The rest are in a box in t...

Table of contents

• ONE
• TWO
• THREE
• FOUR
• FIVE
• SIX
• SEVEN
• EIGHT
• NINE
• TEN
• ELEVEN
• TWELVE
• THIRTEEN
• FOURTEEN
• FIFTEEN
• SIXTEEN
• SEVENTEEN
• EIGHTEEN