The Strange Story of Linda Lee Read online

  Nevertheless, exhausted by her ghastly night, she did fall into a doze, so sooner than she expected there came a quick knocking on the door. Her impulse was to sit up, but she restrained it, turned over so that her back was to the door, and called, ‘Come in.’

  Normally Bella came to wake her; but, as she had expected, it was Stefano’s agitated voice that cried, ‘The Master! I take up his tea. He is not in bed but on floor. Taken ill in night. Very ill. I fear dead.’

  Instantly she reacted appropriately. Jerking herself erect, she stared at him wide-eyed and gasped, ‘No! No!’ Then she jumped out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and, while still struggling with it, pushed past him to run downstairs.

  Stefano followed and entered Rowley’s room on her heels. It was exactly as she had last seen it. With a wail of woe she threw herself down beside the body, put her hands on its shoulders and cried, ‘Rowley! Rowley! Oh, this is too awful.’

  Turning to Stefano, she said quickly, ‘Telephone for Dr. Mead. No, I’d better do that. Where’s Bella?’

  At the sound of the commotion Bella had come upstairs. She was standing just outside the door and had burst into tears. As Linda made to leave the room she added, ‘While I telephone, between you get Mr. Frobisher into his bed.’

  Running down to the study, she rang up the doctor. As it was only a little after eight o’clock, he had not yet gone out on his rounds, and promised to come at once. Stefano and Bella had just come out of Rowley’s room and closed the door behind them. As though in a daze, she accompanied them downstairs to the kitchen. She knew that she ought to be crying but, having wept so much during the night, she could not now squeeze out a single tear. It struck her then that they might wonder why her eyes were so red, so she pretended to collapse in a chair and covered her face with her hands.

  The Italians fussed about her. They were obviously most distressed at losing their kind master and kept making doleful exclamations in their own language. Then, with the practical good sense of her race, Bella boiled up the kettle and made Linda a big cup of instant coffee. She drank it gratefully.

  Dr. Mead lived only a few streets away. She had just finished the coffee when the front-door bell rang and Stefano hurried off to let the doctor in. Linda accompanied him to Rowley’s room. No explanations were necessary. The empty brandy bottle was enough to tell the tale. Having drawn the sheet up over Rowley’s face, the doctor turned to her and said with a shake of his head:

  ‘I feared this would happen before very long, since he refused to heed my warning about limiting himself to only an occasional glass of spirits. It must have been a terrible shock to you, Miss Chatterton. I’ll sign the necessary certificate and get in touch with an undertaker for you. You’ll inform his relatives, of course, and when you’ve done that you’d better go back to bed. I’ll leave you a sedative.’

  When he had gone, Linda shut herself in the study and rang up Elsie. Rowley’s stepdaughter received the news without apparent emotion. Having said, ‘How terrible,’ she expressed no sympathy for Linda, only added: ‘Hold the fine while I tell Arthur.’

  Some minutes later, she came on again and said, ‘We are coming up to London and should be with you at about eleven o’clock. In the meantime, of course, you will remove nothing from the house.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Linda enquired in surprise.

  ‘I’m only warning you because it and its contents are now mine. Arthur drew up Rowley’s last will and, apart from a few legacies, he left everything to me.’

  ‘I see,’ Linda murmured. ‘But the legacies. I take it he has left me enough to live on?’

  ‘No. You are not mentioned in it.’ Elsie did not attempt to disguise her satisfaction as she added, ‘You don’t get a penny. Not one penny.’

  Chapter 7

  A Thief in the Morning

  Linda was still holding the receiver to her ear. ‘Hello!’ she cried. ‘Hello!’ and jiggled the receiver cradle agitatedly. But Elsie had hung up; the line was dead. She, too, hung up. Then, dazed with shock, she remained for several minutes looking out of the window with unseeing eyes at the small back garden.

  Gradually her brain took in the full implications of what Elsie had said. Rowley had not made a new will, as he had told her he would, soon after he had recovered from his first heart attack. To ask a man how he meant to leave his money, when one hoped to inherit a share of it, was a very awkward thing to do. Linda had brought herself to raise the matter only with great diffidence and, having received Rowley’s assurance that he would provide adequately for her, had never again mentioned his possible death. Like many scientists he was, at times, apt to be absent-minded about practical matters; evidently it had slipped his mind again.

  She felt certain that the last thing he had meant to do was to leave her high and dry: but the fact remained that he had. The thought appalled her. Most of the handsome allowance he had made her had gone on clothes, presents and sending periodical ‘fivers’ to her mother, so in her bank she had only about one hundred and eighty pounds. That was all that now stood between her and starvation.

  It should keep her long enough to get a job. But what sort of a job? Owing to her inability to learn shorthand, it could be only a job in a typists’ pool, as a sales girl, or possibly a receptionist. She would be very lucky if she could earn as much as twenty pounds a week.

  She was well stocked up with clothes, but she would have to feed herself. With such a wage, and constantly rising prices, she would have to live in some cheap boarding house or share a flat with several other girls, and with a television set permanently blaring, which would prevent her from the reading she had come to love.

  The prospect filled her with dismay. Memories of the Ritz in Paris, the Reserve in Beaulieu, the sunny garden terrace and swimming pool at Cipriani’s, the many happy hours visiting castles, cathedrals, museums, old galleries, all came back to her. She had become used to drinking champagne, château clarets and auslese hocks, to eating caviare, foie gras, smoked salmon and the rich dishes that Rowley had ordered for them at first-class restaurants. Yesterday all these joys had been within her normal orbit; this morning, in one brief moment, they had been snatched from her for ever.

  Never, never again was she to enjoy such things. Instead, some dreary, monotonous job from nine to five, a fortnight’s holiday a year at Brighton or Margate, snack lunches in tea shops, a cut off the joint and two veg. for her evening meal, and a glass or two of cheap wine occasionally as a treat. After the life she had been leading, it was worse than a prison sentence. She almost wished she were dead.

  She would not submit to it, not without a struggle. Somehow Elsie must be made to do something for her. She could not bring an action. Legally she had not a leg to stand on. But morally, she was entitled to a pension of sorts. Had she never met Rowley, by now she would at least be earning her living, have made a few friends of her own class and settled down reasonably contented with her lot. Her looks would certainly have secured boy friends for her, and quite probably she would by now be married to some decent, steady fellow. But Rowley had spoilt any chance she had ever had of that.

  She must put her case to Elsie and enlist Arthur’s help. He wasn’t a bad fellow, although he was so subservient to his wife. Rowley had been rich, so they would now have a big income. A few hundred a year would mean little to them, but make all the difference to her. If need be, she would swallow her pride and plead with Elsie.

  But Elsie was as hard as nails and had never disguised the fact that she disliked her. They had not a thing in common, and to assert that she had given Rowley the happiest years of his life would not help. To reveal that she had been his mistress would only make things worse, and arouse all Elsie’s puritanical prejudices. No, for all Elsie’s self-righteous, charitable works, there was little hope that she would loosen her purse-strings for her stepfather’s ‘secretary’.

  Then a sudden inspiration came to Linda. Elsie had made a special point of telling her that she must take nothing fro
m the house. At the time she had been vaguely puzzled, because it had not seemed to her that there was anything of much value that she would be likely to take. But now the thought flashed upon her. There were Rowley’s mother’s jewels.

  Being honest by nature, for a few minutes she balked at the idea. Had she been able to get in touch with Eric, she would not have dreamed of taking them. But it might be months before she could trace him. She might even fail altogether, and this was a case of ‘now or never’. Rowley, she was convinced, would have approved her making good in this way his own forgetfulness and neglect. Reason told her too that it was foolish to be deterred by scruples. Those jewels could prove a life-raft in a stormy sea. She could live in comfort for several years on the money they would fetch. She would be crazy to go out into the world alone and almost penniless when a fortune lay close to hand for the taking.

  Stepping quickly over to the door, she transferred the key to the inside and locked it, then knelt down beside the safe. Ever since she had become Rowley’s mistress, he had let her wear any of the jewels she liked and, so that she could get them out whenever she wanted without bothering him, he had given her the combination. Swiftly she twirled the knob to and fro, then swung the heavy door open.

  The lower shelves held Rowley’s papers, with their secret nuclear calculations; the upper the pile of small, leather cases, the valuable contents of each of which she knew well. Sweeping them out, she stuffed them into a large manilla envelope and on top of them her passport, then closed the door of the safe and, twirling the knob, relocked it.

  The jewels Rowley’s mother had left were, she knew, worth about twenty-five thousand pounds, but only a part of them was here. To keep the insurance premium down to a reasonable figure, the most valuable items were lodged in Harrods’ safe deposit. But, as she dealt with Rowley’s insurances, she was aware that the haul she had made was worth about seven thousand pounds. If she could dispose of them, that would enable her to weather the storm for a long time to come.

  Unlocking the door of the room, she peered cautiously out. Neither of the servants was to be seen. With trembling fingers she put the key back in the outside of the door, then ran lightly up to her bedroom. There she transferred the jewel cases to her largest handbag.

  By this time it was just after nine o’clock, so there were nearly two hours to go before Elsie and Arthur could be expected; ample time for her to make herself respectable. When she looked in the bathroom mirror she was shocked by her haggard appearance, but her eyes were now shining with excitement. Another bath refreshed her; then she did her face and hair and put on a grey coat and skirt, which was the nearest thing she had to mourning.

  Having locked in a drawer the bag in which she had put the jewels, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Normally she had her breakfast brought up to her at half past eight, and it was now a few minutes past ten; so, in spite of her disturbed state of mind, she was hungry. The Luchenis were making no attempt to get on with the housework, but talking together in low Voices. As she walked in they both stood up and gravely expressed their sympathy for her. She told them that Mr. and Mrs. Spilkin would be arriving shortly and would most probably stay to lunch. Bella said that there were in the fridge both cold vichyoisse and a lemon sponge she had made, and that for a main course she would slip out and get a leg of lamb. Linda nodded agreement, then, having asked Bella to make her an omelette and more coffee, she went to the dining-room.

  As she sat there waiting for her belated breakfast and while she ate it, she knew that she ought to be grieving for Rowley. She would have been had not Elsie’s bombshell suddenly made her future so uncertain; and it was on that her mind was working overtime.

  The odds against Rowley’s having told Elsie the combination to open the safe were very long; so a man from Chubb’s would have to be sent for, and it was unlikely that one would be available until the following morning at the earliest. Even so, that gave her a safety margin of only twenty-four hours. During that time she must dispose of the jewels and get herself lost without trace.

  That brought her face to face with the fact that she had become a criminal and, if found out, might be sent to prison. She blanched at the thought, and for some moments considered putting the jewels back while there was still time. But again there loomed up in her mind swift visions of being pushed around by some slave-driving employer, or pestered by some unpleasant boss who wanted to sleep with her, of doing her own washing, of dreary Sundays when she would be unable to afford to go out of London to lunch at some old country inn, and the smell of stale cabbage coming up from the kitchen of a cheap boarding house. No, she decided. She could not face it. Prison could hardly be much worse.

  Elsie would, no doubt, expect her to move out within the next few days. But she would have to anyway, now that she had taken the jewels. Would they insist on searching her luggage, to make sure that she had not packed among her things some of the silver, or half a dozen of Rowley’s collection of valuable snuffboxes? Well, they could search her luggage if they liked. But what about her handbag? Suppose they suspected that she might be making off with the jewels? If she refused to let them look in her bag, that would be as good as a confession of guilt. They would detain her forcibly and send for the police. Then she would have ‘had it’.

  In sudden panic she choked on a piece of toast and marmalade. Pushing back her chair, she stood up. There was only one way in which to make certain of escaping such a catastrophe. She must leave with the jewels before they arrived. But if, when they reached the house, they found her gone, they would immediately jump to it that she had stolen something; She would not be in the clear even for twenty-four hours. On some excuse they would start a hue and cry after her, perhaps say that, as she had left all her clothes behind, they feared that Rowley’s death had sent her out of her mind.

  No. She must get the jewels out of the house and be back there before they turned up. But how in the very brief time now left at her disposal could she deposit the jewels in some safe place from which she could afterwards collect them? Her quick mind swiftly produced an answer. She could rush along to the Post Office, put them in a large, registered envelope and address them to herself at some hotel. Any hotel would do. Leaving the table she ran upstairs to get the bag with its precious contents. She had unlocked the drawer and snatched up the bag when the front-door bell rang. Momentarily the shock paralysed her. She found herself looking at the clock. The hands stood at ten to eleven. She must have spent more time over breakfast than she had thought, for she had believed it to be not much after half past ten. The bell that had rung must be the Spilkins. She had left it too late. With a little groan she dropped the bag back into the drawer and relocked it.

  Suddenly it occurred to her that they would not expect to find her dressed and self-possessed, but prostrate with grief. Quickly she slipped off her coat, skirt and shoes, put on her dressing gown and lay down on the bed.

  A few minutes later there came a peremptory knock on the door and, without waiting for an answer, Elsie walked in. Linda felt a strong aversion to the short, plump figure, the little, piggy eyes and the fleshy chin, but she forced herself not to show it, gave a faint smile and said in a low voice, ‘I’m glad you’ve come.’

  Elsie surveyed her critically and replied, ‘Naturally we’ve come. The sooner we get everything settled, the better. Rowley’s death must have been a most unpleasant shock for you. But I trust you are not too laid out to put on some things and come downstairs to talk matters over with me and Arthur.’

  ‘No,’ Linda murmured, sitting up. ‘I’ll be down in about ten minutes. And I’ll be glad to have your advice about my future.’

  A brief nod was Elsie’s only reply before leaving the room and closing the door none too softly behind her.

  Ten minutes later Linda joined the Spilkins in the study. They were busily employed going through such papers as Rowley had left in his desk. Arthur greeted Linda politely and his eyes expressed the sympathy that he evidently feared to v
oice in the presence of his dominating wife.

  Elsie opened matters by saying, ‘You know the combination of the safe, of course. Be good enough to open it.’

  Sitting down on a chair, Linda shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know it. Rowley kept all his secret calculations in it, and he never told me the combination.’

  With a shrug of annoyance Elsie said, ‘In that case, we’ll get a lock man along as soon as we can. Now, about yourself. Naturally, we’ve no wish to hurry you unduly, but how soon can you get packed up and find somewhere else to live?’

  The realisation that she had already become a thief filled Linda with dismay. So she had decided that, if she could persuade Elsie to give her even a modest allowance, she would take the first opportunity of putting the jewels back in the safe. Hesitantly she replied:

  ‘I … I hardly know. This was so terribly unexpected. I … I wanted to consult you about my future.’

  ‘Well, what about it?’

  ‘You told me that I’m not mentioned in Rowley’s will. That came as an awful shock, because after his first heart attack he promised to have a new will drawn up, in which he would provide for me.’

  ‘Maybe. But he didn’t. On our way here we called at Arthur’s office and collected a copy of Rowley’s last will.’ Turning to her husband, she added: ‘Arthur, show it to her.’

  Arthur produced a long, folded paper from his briefcase and gave it to Linda. Glancing at it, she saw that it was dated April 17th, 1968. That would have been some weeks after Rowley’s wife had had her near-fatal accident. Handing the document back, she said:

  ‘There is no point in my reading it through, since you say that I am not mentioned. Evidently Rowley forgot his promise to look after me.’

  ‘That is so,’ Arthur agreed, running a finger down his long, needle-point nose. ‘I’m sorry, but there it is. However, you can return to your parents in Lincolnshire. I recall being told that they are quite well off, so are in a position to take care of you.’