Read Online The Marshal and the Madwoman by Magdalen Nabb - Free Book Online
Authors: Magdalen Nabb
Ads: Link
know? I keep expecting her to appear out there with her brush . . .'
Nobody appeared out there.
'Seven of clubs.'—'Mine.'—'Your deal' . . .
'She once cracked the council refuse collector over the head with it.'
'What?'
'She used to go for people with her brush, especially if they got in the way of her cleaning. She was fanatical about it.'
'My wife mentioned that, said she swept the whole square.'
'Swept it? She washed and polished it. She was forever down on her hands and knees. And I've seen her go out of a shop and take her receipt straight to the skips, struggling away to lift up those high lids—she was only small—despite her little bag of shopping and the inevitable sweeping brush that was always under her arm. What a case she was. She got much worse when it started going dark, sweeping and mopping as though her life depended on it.'
'Franco?' A woman appeared from somewhere at the back of the room. She was as large as Franco and just as placid and smiling. A big brooch decorated her dress on her ample breast and she was smoking a cigarette.
'My wife, Pina,' Franco said. Evidently there was no need for him to tell her who the Marshal was.
'Eeh, poor creature . . .'
The Marshal took this to be a comment on Clementina rather than a greeting to himself.
'I'll sit down a minute,' she went on with a sigh, 'my feet are swollen. The doctor says I should walk more but I don't know where he thinks I'm supposed to walk to or how I'm to find the time.' Her beringed fingers slapped a packet of cigarettes and a plastic lighter down on the formica table and she sank on to a chair that looked far too fragile for her. Franco started to get up.
'I'll get you a glass.'
'No. I don't want anything. What were you talking about? Clementina, I suppose.'
'About the way she cleaned the square,' Franco said, 'even at night.'
'She was a strange one all right.'
'Did she always have this mania?' the Marshal asked.
'As long as she's been here and that must be ten years— isn't it, Franco? You never know, maybe she got that way when she lost her husband. It takes some women funny.'
'When did she lose her husband?'
'I couldn't tell you. I'm only guessing she was a widow because she wore a wedding ring. It's funny, now you mention it, but although she always had plenty to say for herself in her own way, she never said a word about her past.' Pina took a long drag on her cigarette which was stained with bright red lipstick. 'You can see somebody every day and in the end you don't know that much about them. I do know she had a bit of a job up to not so long ago, though goodness knows who was good enough to give it to her.'
'What sort of job?'
'Cleaning, of course!' Pina laughed. 'I know it sounds like the ideal job for her, poor creature, but she had her own ideas about cleaning and they weren't everybody's. I wouldn't have wanted her cleaning my house, I can tell you.'
It was true that when the Marshal had been in Clementina's flat he had found it tidy enough but certainly not fresh and sparkling. He'd put it down to everything in it being so old but perhaps it hadn't been too clean, at all. There was all that fluff on top of the wardrobe . . .
'Somebody doing her a good turn,' Pina suggested, 'though I don't know who. She hadn't a soul in the world to care for her.'
'Where was this job?'
'Some sort of office, wasn't it, Franco?'
'That's right. Not far from here, near the river. I don't know the name of the place.'
'I ought to know,' Pina said, 'she mentioned it many a time when she was going there . . . What the devil was the name of it?'
The Marshal didn't urge her or insist on its importance because he knew that would make it harder to remember. He couldn't even be sure that it was important but he still felt that the murder had been an 'outside job', nothing to do with the people here in the square, and anything which connected Clementina with someone outside the area might be useful.
After racking her brains a
Nobody appeared out there.
'Seven of clubs.'—'Mine.'—'Your deal' . . .
'She once cracked the council refuse collector over the head with it.'
'What?'
'She used to go for people with her brush, especially if they got in the way of her cleaning. She was fanatical about it.'
'My wife mentioned that, said she swept the whole square.'
'Swept it? She washed and polished it. She was forever down on her hands and knees. And I've seen her go out of a shop and take her receipt straight to the skips, struggling away to lift up those high lids—she was only small—despite her little bag of shopping and the inevitable sweeping brush that was always under her arm. What a case she was. She got much worse when it started going dark, sweeping and mopping as though her life depended on it.'
'Franco?' A woman appeared from somewhere at the back of the room. She was as large as Franco and just as placid and smiling. A big brooch decorated her dress on her ample breast and she was smoking a cigarette.
'My wife, Pina,' Franco said. Evidently there was no need for him to tell her who the Marshal was.
'Eeh, poor creature . . .'
The Marshal took this to be a comment on Clementina rather than a greeting to himself.
'I'll sit down a minute,' she went on with a sigh, 'my feet are swollen. The doctor says I should walk more but I don't know where he thinks I'm supposed to walk to or how I'm to find the time.' Her beringed fingers slapped a packet of cigarettes and a plastic lighter down on the formica table and she sank on to a chair that looked far too fragile for her. Franco started to get up.
'I'll get you a glass.'
'No. I don't want anything. What were you talking about? Clementina, I suppose.'
'About the way she cleaned the square,' Franco said, 'even at night.'
'She was a strange one all right.'
'Did she always have this mania?' the Marshal asked.
'As long as she's been here and that must be ten years— isn't it, Franco? You never know, maybe she got that way when she lost her husband. It takes some women funny.'
'When did she lose her husband?'
'I couldn't tell you. I'm only guessing she was a widow because she wore a wedding ring. It's funny, now you mention it, but although she always had plenty to say for herself in her own way, she never said a word about her past.' Pina took a long drag on her cigarette which was stained with bright red lipstick. 'You can see somebody every day and in the end you don't know that much about them. I do know she had a bit of a job up to not so long ago, though goodness knows who was good enough to give it to her.'
'What sort of job?'
'Cleaning, of course!' Pina laughed. 'I know it sounds like the ideal job for her, poor creature, but she had her own ideas about cleaning and they weren't everybody's. I wouldn't have wanted her cleaning my house, I can tell you.'
It was true that when the Marshal had been in Clementina's flat he had found it tidy enough but certainly not fresh and sparkling. He'd put it down to everything in it being so old but perhaps it hadn't been too clean, at all. There was all that fluff on top of the wardrobe . . .
'Somebody doing her a good turn,' Pina suggested, 'though I don't know who. She hadn't a soul in the world to care for her.'
'Where was this job?'
'Some sort of office, wasn't it, Franco?'
'That's right. Not far from here, near the river. I don't know the name of the place.'
'I ought to know,' Pina said, 'she mentioned it many a time when she was going there . . . What the devil was the name of it?'
The Marshal didn't urge her or insist on its importance because he knew that would make it harder to remember. He couldn't even be sure that it was important but he still felt that the murder had been an 'outside job', nothing to do with the people here in the square, and anything which connected Clementina with someone outside the area might be useful.
After racking her brains a
Similar Books
