Read Online The Scold's Bridle by Minette Walters - Free Book Online
Authors: Minette Walters
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and the head has reduced enough to retain the other quarter without dropping them, assuming the same circumference head as Mrs. Gillespie. Do you follow?"
She frowned. "I think so. But couldn't she have used cotton wool or tissues to pad the gap while she put in the flowers?"
"Yes. But if she had, then something in that house would have had rust marks on it. We searched it from top to bottom. There was nothing. So what happened to the padding?"
Sarah closed her eyes and pictured the bathroom. "There was a sponge on the bathrack," she said, remembering. "Perhaps she used that and then washed it in the bath."
"It does have particles of rust on it," he admitted, "but then the bath was full of them. The sponge could have picked them up when it was soaked by the water." He pursed his lips in frustration. "Or, as you say, it could have been used as padding. We don't know, but what worries me is this: if she did it herself, then she must have sat at her dressing-table to do it. It's the only surface where we've discovered any sap." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "We picture it something like this. She placed the flowers on the dressing-table, sat down in front of the mirror and then set about arranging them in the framework on her head, but she wouldn't have discovered she needed padding until she was half-way round, at which point the natural thing to do would have been to reach for some Kleenex or some cotton wool, both of which were there in front of her. So why go to the bathroom for the sponge?" He fell silent for a moment or two. "If, however, someone else killed her and arranged the flowers after she was in the bath, then the sponge would have been the obvious thing to use. It's a far more logical scenario and would explain the absence of nettle rash on Mrs. Gillespie's hands and fingers."
"You said the pathologist's report mentioned nettle rash on her cheeks and temples," said Sarah apologetically. "But she'd have to have been alive for her skin to react to the stings."
"It was only slight," he amended. "The way I see it, her killer didn't wait till she was dead-you don't hang about when you're murdering someone-he or she shoved the nettles in while she was dying."
Sarah nodded. "It sounds plausible," she agreed, "except-" She didn't finish the sentence.
"Except what, Dr. Blakeney?"
"Why would anyone want to murder her?"
He shrugged. "Her daughter and her granddaughter had strong enough motives. According to the will, the estate is to be divided equally between the two of them. Mrs. Lascelles gets the money and Miss Lascelles gets Cedar House."
"Did they know?"
He nodded. "Mrs. Lascelles certainly did because she showed us where to find the will-Mrs. Gillespie was very methodical, kept all her papers and correspondence in neat files in a cabinet in the library-but whether
Miss
Lascelles knew the precise terms, I don't know. She claims her grandmother intended her to have everything and is very put out to discover she is only going to get the house." His face assumed a somewhat ironic expression. "She's a greedy young woman. There's not many seventeen-year-olds would turn their noses up at a windfall like that."
Sarah smiled slightly. "Presumably you've checked to find out where they were the night she died?"
He nodded again. "Mrs. Lascelles was at a concert in London with a friend; Miss Lascelles was thirty miles away under the watchful eye of a housemistress at school."
She forced another smile. "Which puts them out of the picture."
"Maybe, maybe not. I never set much store by alibis and someone had to get into Cedar House." He frowned. "Apart from Mrs. Spede and Mrs. Gillespie herself, the Lascelles women were the only other ones with keys."
"You're determined to make it murder," protested Sarah mildly.
He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "We've questioned everyone in the village. Mrs. Spede was at the pub with her husband and, as far as friends are concerned, we can't find anyone who was on
She frowned. "I think so. But couldn't she have used cotton wool or tissues to pad the gap while she put in the flowers?"
"Yes. But if she had, then something in that house would have had rust marks on it. We searched it from top to bottom. There was nothing. So what happened to the padding?"
Sarah closed her eyes and pictured the bathroom. "There was a sponge on the bathrack," she said, remembering. "Perhaps she used that and then washed it in the bath."
"It does have particles of rust on it," he admitted, "but then the bath was full of them. The sponge could have picked them up when it was soaked by the water." He pursed his lips in frustration. "Or, as you say, it could have been used as padding. We don't know, but what worries me is this: if she did it herself, then she must have sat at her dressing-table to do it. It's the only surface where we've discovered any sap." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "We picture it something like this. She placed the flowers on the dressing-table, sat down in front of the mirror and then set about arranging them in the framework on her head, but she wouldn't have discovered she needed padding until she was half-way round, at which point the natural thing to do would have been to reach for some Kleenex or some cotton wool, both of which were there in front of her. So why go to the bathroom for the sponge?" He fell silent for a moment or two. "If, however, someone else killed her and arranged the flowers after she was in the bath, then the sponge would have been the obvious thing to use. It's a far more logical scenario and would explain the absence of nettle rash on Mrs. Gillespie's hands and fingers."
"You said the pathologist's report mentioned nettle rash on her cheeks and temples," said Sarah apologetically. "But she'd have to have been alive for her skin to react to the stings."
"It was only slight," he amended. "The way I see it, her killer didn't wait till she was dead-you don't hang about when you're murdering someone-he or she shoved the nettles in while she was dying."
Sarah nodded. "It sounds plausible," she agreed, "except-" She didn't finish the sentence.
"Except what, Dr. Blakeney?"
"Why would anyone want to murder her?"
He shrugged. "Her daughter and her granddaughter had strong enough motives. According to the will, the estate is to be divided equally between the two of them. Mrs. Lascelles gets the money and Miss Lascelles gets Cedar House."
"Did they know?"
He nodded. "Mrs. Lascelles certainly did because she showed us where to find the will-Mrs. Gillespie was very methodical, kept all her papers and correspondence in neat files in a cabinet in the library-but whether
Miss
Lascelles knew the precise terms, I don't know. She claims her grandmother intended her to have everything and is very put out to discover she is only going to get the house." His face assumed a somewhat ironic expression. "She's a greedy young woman. There's not many seventeen-year-olds would turn their noses up at a windfall like that."
Sarah smiled slightly. "Presumably you've checked to find out where they were the night she died?"
He nodded again. "Mrs. Lascelles was at a concert in London with a friend; Miss Lascelles was thirty miles away under the watchful eye of a housemistress at school."
She forced another smile. "Which puts them out of the picture."
"Maybe, maybe not. I never set much store by alibis and someone had to get into Cedar House." He frowned. "Apart from Mrs. Spede and Mrs. Gillespie herself, the Lascelles women were the only other ones with keys."
"You're determined to make it murder," protested Sarah mildly.
He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "We've questioned everyone in the village. Mrs. Spede was at the pub with her husband and, as far as friends are concerned, we can't find anyone who was on
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