Money in the Morgue: The New Inspector Alleyn Mystery. Stella Duffy

the other side of Matron’s office the Records Office door was opened and Rosamund Farquharson stood back, careful not to let the rain ruin her new dress or her beautifully set curls, careful too to ensure that no one noticed Maurice Sanders slip past her to join his fellows from the ward as they came rushing out to stare in bemused amazement at the round, red-faced man bawling highway robbery into the tempest from his place on his knees in Matron’s office doorway.

       CHAPTER NINE

      ‘Mr Glossop!’ Sister Comfort managed the impressive feat of bringing to just four syllables, uttered barely above a whisper, a tone both chilling and imperious.

      Glossop lowered the pitch of his wails of ‘theft’ and ‘robbery’ but he did not desist. Sister Comfort shook her head, walked across the yard impervious to the rain and, to the cheers and applause of the combined ranks of patients, by now all crowding to the verandahs, the windows and the porches leading out from each ward, she hauled Glossop up by the shoulders of his shirt.

      ‘Pull yourself together, man,’ she hissed, ‘Look where you are, look at the spectacle you’re making of yourself. There are people here who are terribly ill, a gentleman has just died and you are howling like a banshee in the door to Matron’s office. What on earth has happened?’

      Glossop, brought up short by Sister Comfort’s mention of Matron, seemed to come to his senses, if only a little. He stumbled backwards into the office, pulling Sister Comfort with him, to ensure she could see the gaping maw of the empty safe. Her solid frame hid the view from the staff and patients craning their necks to see what had happened, so that all they could see beyond the Sister were the white gesticulating arms of Glossop’s damp shirt.

      Rosamund Farquharson meanwhile, was now on the steps trying to see past Sister Comfort and into the office, ‘My winnings—Matron had all of my winnings, the whole damn lot!’

      Even in her passion, she omitted to mention that Matron had deducted ten pounds from those winnings, nor did she mention the five pounds that had gone to Private Sanders. Rosamund might be upset, but she wasn’t foolish. In her anguish over her loss she also appeared to have lost her nicely rounded vowels.

      From his spot on the porch to Military 1, Maurice Sanders watched as Rosamund tried to push past Sister Comfort. He still had a soft spot for Rosie, he didn’t want to see her making a fool of herself in front of this lot. At the same time he knew he had already contributed more than enough to tarnishing her name among her peers as well as his own, those VADs could be vicious gossips, and it was this awareness that held him back from actually leaping across the yard to her rescue.

      ‘Lucky get-out there, mate,’ he whispered to himself a moment later, when Sarah Warne stepped up to Rosamund’s side instead, saving Maurice from a chivalrous side to his character that neither he nor his comrades had previously noticed.

      Sarah’s voice was calm but her eyes were sharp as she put her hand on Rosamund’s arm, ‘Let’s not make too much noise right now.’ She edged closer and whispered, ‘Can’t you see they’re all enjoying it far too much? You don’t need to give them what they want, Rosie, not always.’

      Rosamund turned to look at the assembled crowd of patients, the VADs and other night staff, everyone keen to see what would happen next, all of them eager for a scene. She spoke out of the side of her mouth to Sarah, ‘Fair enough, but oh, wouldn’t I like to give them the full-blown damn and blast it scene they want. All right Sarah, I’ll be the good girl. Lead on, Lady Macduff.’

      She held out her hand to Sarah and allowed herself to be led meekly into Matron’s office. They were just inside out of the slowing rain, when a voice called out from the men standing in the porch of Military 1.

      ‘Oi, Sister, shouldn’t someone find Matron?’

      The call was taken up by the servicemen in their serried ranks, shouting the same until it turned into a song, ‘Fetch the Matron, fetch the Matron, fetch the Matron bring her here, bring her ’ere—fetch the Matron and—Bring—’Er—’Ere!’