Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?

‘My dear, you know what it is. You know how mouldy parents can be. What with that and the bathrooms in the state they are, and nothing to do and nobody to see – and people simply won’t come to the country to stay nowadays! They say they’re economizing and they can’t go so far. Well, I mean, what’s a girl to do?’

Bobby shook his head, sadly recognizing the problem.

‘However,’ went on Frankie, ‘after the party I went to last night, I thought even home couldn’t be worse.’

‘What was wrong with the party?’

‘Nothing at all. It was just like any other party, only more so. It was to start at the Savoy at half-past eight. Some of us rolled up about a quarter-past nine and, of course, we got entangled with other people, but we got sorted out about ten. And we had dinner and then after a bit we went on to the Marionette – there was a rumour it was going to be raided, but nothing happened – it was just moribund, and we drank a bit and then we went on to the Bullring and that was even deader, and then we went to a coffee stall, and then we went to a fried-fish place, and then we thought we’d go and breakfast with Angela’s uncle and see if he’d be shocked, but he wasn’t – only bored, and then we sort of fizzled home. Honestly, Bobby, it isn’t good enough.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Bobby, stifling a pang of envy.

Never in his wildest moments did he dream of being able to be a member of the Marionette or the Bullring.

His relationship with Frankie was a peculiar one.

As children, he and his brothers had played with the children at the Castle. Now that they were all grown up, they seldom came across each other. When they did, they still used Christian names. On the rare occasions when Frankie was at home, Bobby and his brothers would go up and play tennis. But Frankie and her two brothers were not asked to the Vicarage. It seemed to be tacitly recognized that it would not be amusing for them. On the other hand, extra men were always wanted for tennis. There may have been a trace of constraint in spite of the Christian names. The Derwents were, perhaps, a shade more friendly than they need have been as though to show that ‘there was no difference’. The Jones, on their side, were a shade formal, as though determined not to claim more friendship than was offered them. The two families had now nothing in common save certain childish memories. Yet Bobbie was very fond of Frankie and was always pleased on the rare occasions when Fate threw them together.

‘I’m so tired of everything,’ said Frankie in a weary voice. ‘Aren’t you?’

Bobby considered.

‘No, I don’t think I am.’

‘My dear, how wonderful,’ said Frankie.

‘I don’t mean I’m hearty,’ said Bobby, anxious not to create a painful impression. ‘I just can’t stand people who are hearty.’

Frankie shuddered at the mere mention of the word.

‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘They’re dreadful.’

They looked at each other sympathetically.

‘By the way,’ said Frankie suddenly. ‘What’s all this about a man falling over the cliffs?’

‘Dr Thomas and I found him,’ said Bobby. ‘How did you know about it, Frankie?’

‘Saw it in the paper. Look.’

She indicated with her finger a small paragraph headed: ‘Fatal Accident in Sea Mist.’

The victim of the tragedy at Marchbolt was identified late last night by means of a photograph which he was carrying. The photograph proved to be that of Mrs Leo Cayman. Mrs Cayman was communicated with and journeyed at once to Marchbolt, where she identified the deceased as her brother, Alex Pritchard. Mr Pritchard had recently returned from Siam. He had been out of England for ten years and was just starting upon a walking tour. The inquest will be held at Marchbolt tomorrow.

Bobby’s thoughts flew back to the strangely haunting face of the photograph.

‘I believe I shall have to give evidence at the inquest,’ he said.

‘How thrilling. I shall come and hear you.’

‘I don’t suppose there will be anything thrilling about it,’ said Bobby. ‘We just found him, you know.’

‘Was he dead?’

‘No, not then. He died about a quarter of an hour later. I was alone with him.’

He paused.

‘Rather grim,’ said Frankie with that immediate understanding that Bobby’s father had lacked.

‘Of course he didn’t feel anything –’

‘No?’

‘But all the same – well – you see, he looked awfully alive – that sort of person – rather a rotten way to finish – just stepping off a cliff in a silly little bit of mist.’

‘I get you, Steve,’ said Frankie, and again the queer phrase represented sympathy and understanding.

‘Did you see the sister?’ she asked presently.

‘No. I’ve been up in town two days. Had to see a friend of mine about a garage business we’re going in for. You remember him. Badger Beadon.’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course you do. You must remember good old Badger. He squints.’

Frankie wrinkled her brows.

‘He’s got an awfully silly kind of laugh – haw haw haw – like that,’ continued Bobby helpfully.

Still Frankie wrinkled her brows.

‘Fell off his pony when we were kids,’ continued Bobby. ‘Stuck in the mud head down, and we had to pull him out by the legs.’

‘Oh!’ said Frankie in a flood of recollection. ‘I know now. He stammered.’

‘He still does,’ said Bobby proudly.

‘Didn’t he run a chicken farm and it went bust?’ inquired Frankie.

‘That’s right.’

‘And then he went into a stockbroker’s office and they fired him after a month?’

‘That’s it.’

‘And then they sent him to Australia and he came back?’

‘Yes.’