Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2: Death in Ecstasy, Vintage Murder, Artists in Crime

‘It has.’

‘I hope you will understand that I have to ask you certain questions about Miss Quayne.’

He paused for a moment but she did not answer.

‘How long have you been with Miss Quayne?’ asked Alleyn.

‘Thirty-five years.’

‘Thirty-five years! That must be nearly all her life.’

‘She was three months old when I took her. I was her Nannie.’

She had a curious harsh voice. That comfortable word “Nannie” sounded most incongruous.

‘I see,’ said Alleyn. ‘Then it is a sorrow as well as a shock. You became her maid after she grew up?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Will you tell me a little about her – her childhood and where she lived? Her people?’

She waited for a moment. Nigel wondered if she would refuse to give anything but flat responses to questions, but at last she spoke:

‘She was an only child, born after her father died.’

‘He was Colonel Quayne of Elderbourne Manor, Sevenoaks?’

‘Yes. He was in India with the mistress. Killed playing polo. Mrs Quayne came to England when Miss Cara was a month old. They had a black woman for nurse, an Eh-yah or some such thing. She felt the cold and went back to her own country. I never fancied her. The mistress only lived a year after they came home.’

‘A tragic entrance into the world,’ said Alleyn.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where did you and the baby go?’

‘To France,’ said Nannie and implied ‘of all places.’

‘Why was that?’

‘There were no relations in England. They had all gone abroad. There were no near relatives at all. A second cousin of the Colonel’s in New Zealand or some such place. They had never met. The nearest was an aunt of the mistress. A French lady. The mistress was half French, sir, though you’d never have known it.’

Something in Alleyn’s manner seemed to have thawed her a little. She went on:

‘We settled in a little house near this aunt – Madame Verné, was the name – who had a Shatter, one of those big places, near Antibes. The Shatter Verné it was. We were there for eight years. Then Miss Cara went to a convent school, a Papist place. Madame Verné wished it and so did the other guardian, a gentleman who has since died. I moved to the Shatter, and Miss Cara came home for the holidays.’

‘That went on for how long?’

‘Till she was seventeen. Then Madame died. The Shatter was sold.’

‘There was always – There was no difficulty about ways and means?’

‘Miss Cara was an heiress, sir. The Colonel, Mrs Quayne, and then Madame; they all left something considerable. We were very comfortable as far as that went.’

‘You stayed on in France?’

‘In Paris. Miss Cara liked it. She had formed friendships there.’

‘Was M. de Ravigne one of these friends?’

‘He was,’ said Miss Hebborn shortly.

‘Did you not think this a suitable friendship?’

‘I did. Until recently.’

‘Why did you change your opinion?’

‘At first I had no fault to find with Mr Ravigne. He was an old friend of Madame’s and often stayed at the Shatter. He seemed a very pleasant gentleman, steady, quiet in his ways, not a lot of highfalutin’ nonsense like so many of that nation. A foreigner, of course, but at times you would scarcely have noticed it.’

‘Miss Wade’s very words,’ murmured Alleyn.

‘Her!’ said Miss Hebborn. ‘H’m! Well, sir, it was after we came to London that Mr Ravigne changed. For the worse. He called soon after we were settled in and said London appealed to his – some expression –’

‘His temperament?’

‘Yes, sir. Of course it was Miss Cara that did the appealing. He was always very devoted, but she never fancied him. Never. Then he commenced to talk a lot of stuff and nonsense about this new-fangled religion he’d got hold of. A lot of wicked clap-trap.’

The pale face flushed angrily. She made a curious gesture with her roughened hand, passing it across her mouth and nose as if to wipe away a cobweb.

‘You mean the House of the Sacred Flame and its services?’

‘Sacred Flame indeed! Bad, wicked, heathen humbug. And that Mr Garnette with his smooth ways and silly dangerous talk. I’ve never forgiven Mr Ravigne and he knows it. It changed Miss Cara. Changed her whole nature. She was always one of the high-strung, nervous sort. Over-excitable as a child and over-excitable as a woman. I recollect the time we went through when she was fourteen. Wanted to turn Papist. I showed her the rights of that. I’d always brought her up strict Anglican. I’m Chapel myself. Primitive Methodist. But it was the parents’ wish and I saw it carried out.’

‘That was very honourable of you, Nannie. I’m sorry, the “Nannie” slipped out.’

‘You’re very welcome, sir. I’ve always been Nannie, ever since – she could talk.’

She bit her lip and then went on:

‘From the time she went into that wicked place everything went badly. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t do anything. I had to stand by and watch my – my – Miss Cara turn her back on the Lord and go down the way of damnation. She took me with her once,’ added Nannie, ambiguously. ‘The sight of the place, full of naked heathen idols and all the baubles of Satan – it was worse than Rome. There! And when I found out she was going to be the leader in that lewd mockery of her own Church I wished she had died when she was an innocent baby. I wished –’

She broke off abruptly. She was shaking from head to foot. The whole of her last speech had been reeled off in a high key as though she was giving an oration. Nigel was reminded of a woman he had heard preaching at the Marble Arch. Here was real revivalist fervour, pig-headed, stupid, arrogant. After last night it seemed blessedly straightforward and clean.

‘Steady, Nannie,’ said Alleyn.

‘Yes, sir. Thank you. But I don’t feel steady when I think of my poor lamb cut off in the midst of her silly wickedness, like as not with heathenish words on her lips. As the Lord’s my judge, sir, I’d have rather she’d gone over to Rome that time when she was still an innocent baby, that I would.’

‘Was it entirely through M. de Ravigne that she became interested in this Church?’