Writing for Fun
November 2019
Foregone Conclusion - Jan Norman
It was a foregone conclusion, was it not, that Agatha Crispie’s Miss Marble always stumbled across a murder when visiting friends or relatives and always unmasked the culprit. The exception had been her last case, The Case of the Vanishing Vicar. Not only had she failed to help the police find the vicar she had actually been the cause of his disappearance and indeed his death. She had become a murderess; the killer of the only man she had ever loved.
He had disappeared without a trace during active service in WW1. Presuming him to be dead Jane mourned the great love of her life and stayed single. When he turned up out of the blue, as a new vicar, many years later, complete with wife in tow; she was stunned. When confronted he showed no remorse for his behaviour. In his words ‘It had just been a fling hadn’t it old girl? It was never real love was it?’
Hearing this her heart had turned to stone; hatred replaced love. She plotted his demise. Appalled by what she had done but not repentant she struggled to carry on her life, steadfastly doing the rounds of friends and relatives; visits that helped her eke out her pension but always fearful that his body would one day be discovered and her crime unmasked.
Then a letter arrived from her beloved niece; the only person in the world whom Jane still cared about. It changed everything.
Veronica had been the only one in the family who had done very well for herself. She had married a Lord, John Hargreaves and now lived in considerable comfort, even, some would say, luxury in his country mansion in Hertfordshire. Although materially well off she lived a solitary life as she had no children and John, her husband, had, until now, spent a large part of their married life in remote parts of the world as a plant hunter, collecting rare species for Kew Gardens.
In the beginning that had not been the problem. In some ways Veronica had, rather naively, believed that being married to such a romantic explorer figure would compensate for their marriage’s other shortfalls but now he had just returned from South America with his plant collecting companion Gerald. He announced he was home for good and that Gerald would be living with them for the foreseeable future.
The fact that John was coming home to stay and bringing Gerald seemed to be the crux of Veronica’s distress and she had pleaded with Jane to pack her bags with all speed and visit post haste. She would explain all in person as she could not commit what she had to impart to Jane in a letter.
Jane’s curiosity was aroused. Sensing an intrigue she started packing and telegrammed Victoria to expect her the very next day.
Alighting at Much Haddam in the Marshes she was delighted to be met by a chauffeured Bentley and sank back against the plush leather squabs trying to imagine the cause of Veronica’s distress. Two hours later, fortified with hot tea and delicious cucumber sandwiches, she knew. Ensconced in Veronica’s own private apartments Jane listened to the pent up frustrations and humiliations of her niece’s marriage. Their honeymoon had been a sham, John confessing he was homosexual and that he had only married her to provide him with an air of normality and respectability. As for holding back the truth until the knot was tied? He had been was afraid she might not go through with the marriage. A sop to John’s conscience was that, as he kept telling her, she would have status and a life of unqualified luxury. Both commodities that would have been out of her reach had she not have been dragged out of her working class existence by marriage to him.
That John had spent a large part of the next ten years trekking far flung continents with his, as Veronica now knew, lover Gerald she had managed to come to terms with but the present situation she could not. That she should be forced to live out the rest of her life under the same roof as them whilst they indulged in their sinful and unholy activities and pretend to the world all was well was more than she could endure. Should she try and get a divorce? Should she just leave him? But how would she live? She had no means of support. She pleaded with her dear Aunt Jane to help.
Jane reassured her niece that she would find a solution but patience was required. In the meantime Veronica must put a brave face on things; pretend all was well. In fact we must wine and dine with the men and entertain. Show the county what a happy couple you are and that Gerald is a good friend of you both. Intrigued Veronica let Jane have her head and threw herself into the role of dutiful wife and hostess. Jane spent a lot of time flattering Gerald and getting him to talk endlessly about his travels abroad, especially South America of which Miss Marbles seemed to have endless curiosity. She appeared to him as being a bit simple but harmless and so he indulged her. Yes there were cannibals and yes he had met tribes that used blow pipes and poisoned darts tipped with curare. In fact he had brought some of the objects back with him as souvenirs. Would Miss Marbles like to see them?
‘Oh, yes,’ she cried. She would be delighted.
Days passed and Lord Hargreaves announced proudly that tomorrow he would personally help to bring in the harvest on the home farm as he had just taken delivery of a hay baler and wanted to test it out. Jane insisted he explained how it worked. Would it be hard work? Lord Hargreaves, pleased to have such an attentive audience, told her in minute detail of its workings and indeed the dangers. He would have to stand on the baler and pitchfork hay into the very maws of the machine; waiting between every forkful whilst the iron jaws crushed the hay into tightly bound blocks. Jane applauded his courage and promised to make him a special fortifying posset to be drunk just before he left in the morning. Flattered he promised her he would appreciate and welcome the hot drink before his hard labours. Jane also persuaded her niece that, as she would be here to take good care of her husband and guest, Veronica should catch the early morning train to London and buy the dress that had caught her eye on her last visit to Harrods. Something new to wear at the Harvest Ball at the Smyths next week.
The following day was bright and dry and as Veronica had left to catch her train Jane made a great fuss of both men at breakfast and chattered incessantly. So much so that Gerald decided he would go for a long ramble and John hastily swallowed his fortifying drink and made for Top field and the hay making. An hour later the farm manager rushed up to the house shouting, ‘Missy Marbles, calls the ambulance an’ police. There’s been a dreadful accident. The Master’s been swallowed up by that there new fangled hay baler and been spat out ‘tother end in a bale. Tied up with twine with just his head and feet poking out. ‘Tis a terrible sight. Don’t yous come out and see ‘cos the sight will stay with you forever.’
Needless to say, on hearing this Jane put on an uncharacteristic display of flapping and screaming which astonished the manager making him revise his opinion of her. He had thought her sensible and competent but, shrugging his shoulders, he now mentally re-catalogued her as an ordinary excitable woman.
‘Ere, yous sit down Missus and calm yourself. I’ll ‘phone for help.’ Whilst relaying the incident to the police he saw out of the corner of his eye that Jane, after hastily pulling on her coat and thick leather gloves, had bolted out of the door. Shrugging and mumbling, ‘I told her not to. She’ll be sorry.’ he calmly finished his report then rushed after her.
Jane seeing, thankfully, that the farm hands had gathered some way from the bale bound body rushed over and, plunging to her knees, she screamed, ‘I must make sure he’s not breathing and so saying carefully palmed the poisoned tipped dart and thrust it in his neck. Taking off her glove she felt for a pulse. Dramatically smiting her forehead she shrieked, ‘Nothing. He is dead.’ Nobody was surprised and no one moved.
By this time the farm manager, after having run all the way from the house in an effort to try and prevent her seeing the corpse, arrived at her side and was both annoyed and breathless. Irritated beyond measure at having to deal with a batty old bird as well as a gruesome death he lost his rag. ‘Look, come aways you daft old mare. We knows he’s dead. You are just distressing yourself fer nothin . . . Oh thank God ‘eres Constable Mullet.
Dragging Miss Marbles to her feet the farm manager was stunned by the change in Miss Marbles’ demeanour. Brushing herself down she calmly and in slow cultured tones turned to the constable and, holding out her hand, introduced herself.
‘Good Lord, Miss Marbles you need no introduction I attended a case you solved with Inspector Wainwright in ‘38 or was it ‘37? No matter. Looks like you and I have a case to solve now doesn’t it? Now, tell me Miss Marbles, was it an accident or was it murder? What clues have you for me?
‘Dear Constable Mullet,’ gushed Jane, ‘I’m sure you don’t need me to point out that there is a tiny dart sticking out of the deceased's neck. If I am right it is a curare poisoned dart used with a blow pipe by South American Indian tribes.
In fact that reminds me, Gerald Spicer, you know, Lord Hargreaves companion who returned with Lord Hargreaves from the Americas showed me one he brought back with him as a souvenir only the other night. I think it was the evening following their dreadful argument.’
Later that evening Jane settled back in a cosy armchair, clutching a warming cup of hot chocolate and toasting her toes before a roaring fire, waiting for Veronica’s return. Smiling quietly to herself she felt satisfied with the outcome of her machinations; it had been easier the second time around.
A few days later a blow pipe was discovered in the hedgerow near the harvester by the police.
Gerald Spicer, when shown the blowpipe and dart admitted they were his and, failing to provide an alibi at the time of death, was arrested on suspicion of murder of his Lordship.