CHAPTER IX

The Will

“_Our wills are ours to make them thine._”

Tennyson, _In Memoriam_

“Hullo! hullo—ullo! oh, operator, shall I call thee bird or but a

wandering voice? . . . Not at all, I had no intention of being rude, my

child, that was a quotation from the poetry of Mr. Wordsworth . . .

well, ring him again . . . thank you, is that Dr. Carr? . . . Lord Peter

Wimsey speaking . . . oh, yes . . . yes . . . aha! . . . not a bit of

it . . . We are about to vindicate you and lead you home, decorated with

triumphal wreaths of cinnamon and senna-pods . . . No, really. . . .

we’ve come to the conclusion that the thing is serious. . . . Yes. . . .

I want Nurse Forbes’ address. . . . Right, I’ll hold on. . . .

Luton? . . . oh, Tooting, yes, I’ve got that. . . . Certainly, I’ve no

doubt she’s a tartar, but I’m the Grand Panjandrum with the little round

button a-top. . . . Thanks awfully . . . cheer-frightfully-ho!—oh! I

say!—hullo!—I say, she doesn’t do maternity work, does she? Maternity

work?—M for Mother-in-law—Maternity?—No—You’re sure? . . . It would be

simply awful if she did and came along. . . . I couldn’t possibly

produce a baby for her. . . . As long as you’re quite sure. . . .

Right—right—yes—not for the world—nothing to do with you at all.

Good-bye, old thing, good-bye.”

Lord Peter hung up, whistling cheerfully, and called for Bunter.

“My lord?”

“What is the proper suit to put on, Bunter, when one is an expectant

father?”

“I regret, my lord, to have seen no recent fashions in paternity wear. I

should say, my lord, whichever suit your lordship fancies will induce a

calm and cheerful frame of mind in the lady.”

“Unfortunately I don’t know the lady. She is, in fact, only the figment

of an over-teeming brain. But I think the garments should express bright

hope, self-congratulations, and a tinge of tender anxiety.”

“A newly married situation, my lord, I take it. Then I would suggest the

lounge suit in pale grey—the willow-pussy cloth, my lord—with a dull

amethyst tie and socks and a soft hat. I would not recommend a bowler,

my lord. The anxiety expressed in a bowler hat would be rather of the

financial kind.”

“No doubt you are right, Bunter. And I will wear those gloves that got

so unfortunately soiled yesterday at Charing Cross. I am too agitated to

worry about a clean pair.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“No stick, perhaps.”

“Subject to your lordship’s better judgment, I should suggest that a

stick may be suitably handled to express emotion.”

“You are always right, Bunter. Call me a taxi, and tell the man to drive

to Tooting.”

Nurse Forbes regretted very much. She would have liked to oblige Mr.

Simms-Gaythorpe, but she never undertook maternity work. She wondered

who could have misled Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe by giving him her name.

“Well, y’know, I can’t say I was misled,” said Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe,

dropping his walking-stick and retrieving it with an ingenuous laugh.

“Miss Murgatroyd—you know Miss Murgatroyd of Leahampton, I

think—yes—she—that is, I heard about you through her” (this was a fact),

“and she said what a charming person—excuse my repeatin’ these personal

remarks, won’t you?—what a charmin’ person you were and all that, and

how nice it would be if we could persuade you to come, don’t you see.

But she said she was afraid perhaps you _didn’t_ do maternity work.

Still, y’know, I thought it was worth tryin’, what? Bein’ so anxious,

what?—about my wife, that is, you see. So necessary to have someone

young and cheery at these—er—critical times, don’t you know. Maternity

nurses often such ancient and ponderous sort of people—if you don’t mind

my sayin’ so. My wife’s highly nervous—naturally—first effort and all

that—doesn’t like middle-aged people tramplin’ round—you see the idea.”

Nurse Forbes, who was a bony woman of about forty, saw the point

perfectly, and was very sorry she really could not see her way to

undertaking the work.

“It was very kind of Miss Murgatroyd,” she said. “Do you know her well?

Such a delightful woman, is she not?”

The expectant father agreed.

“Miss Murgatroyd was so very much impressed by your sympathetic

way—don’t you know—of nursin’ that poor old lady, Miss Dawson, y’know.

Distant connection of my own as a matter of fact—er, yes—somewhere about

fifteenth cousin twelve times removed. So nervous, wasn’t she? A little

bit eccentric, like the rest of the family, but a charming old lady,

don’t you think?”

“I became very much attached to her,” said Nurse Forbes. “When she was

in full possession of her faculties, she was a most pleasant and

thoughtful patient. Of course, she was in great pain, and we had to keep

her under morphia a great part of the time.”

“Ah, yes! poor old soul! I sometimes think, Nurse, it’s a great pity we

aren’t allowed just to help people off, y’know, when they’re so far

gone. After all, they’re practically dead already, as you might say.

What’s the point of keepin’ them sufferin’ on like that?”

Nurse Forbes looked rather sharply at him.

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t do,” she said, “though one understands the lay

person’s point of view, of course. Dr. Carr was not of your opinion,”

she added, a little acidly.

“I think all that fuss was simply shockin’,” said the gentleman warmly.

“Poor old soul! I said to my wife at the time, why couldn’t they let the

poor old thing rest. Fancy cuttin’ her about, when obviously she’d just

mercifully gone off in a natural way! My wife quite agreed with me. She

was quite upset about it, don’t you know.”

“It was very distressing to everybody concerned,” said Nurse Forbes,

“and of course, it put me in a very awkward position. I ought not to

talk about it, but as you are one of the family, you will quite

understand.”

“Just so. Did it ever occur to you, Nurse”—Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe leaned

forward, crushing his soft hat between his hands in a nervous

manner—“that there might be something behind all that?”

Nurse Forbes primmed up her lips.

“You know,” said Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe, “there _have_ been cases of

doctors tryin’ to get rich old ladies to make wills in their favour. You

don’t think—eh?”

Nurse Forbes intimated that it was not her business to think things.

“No, of course not, certainly not. But as man to man—I mean, between you

and me, what?—wasn’t there a little—er—friction, perhaps, about sending

for the solicitor-johnnie, don’t you know? Of course, my Cousin Mary—I

call her cousin, so to speak, but it’s no relation at all really—of

course, I mean, she’s an awfully nice girl and all that sort of thing,

but I’d got a sort of idea perhaps she wasn’t altogether keen on having

the will-making wallah sent for, what?”

“Oh, Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe, I’m sure you’re quite wrong there. Miss

Whittaker was most anxious that her aunt should have every facility in

that way. In fact—I don’t think I’m betraying any confidence in telling

you this—she said to me, ‘If at any time Miss Dawson should express a

wish to see a lawyer, be sure you send for him at once.’ And so, of

course, I did.”

“You did? And didn’t he come, then?”

“Certainly he came. There was no difficulty about it at all.”

“There! That just shows, doesn’t it? how wrong some of these gossipy

females can be! Excuse me, but y’know, I’d got absolutely the wrong

impression about the thing. I’m quite _sure_ Mrs. Peasgood said that no

lawyer had been sent for.”

“I don’t know what Mrs. Peasgood could have known about it,” said Nurse

Forbes with a sniff, “her permission was not asked in the matter.”

“Certainly not—but you know how these ideas get about. But, I say—if

there was a will, why wasn’t it produced?”

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe. There was no will. The lawyer

came to draw up a power of attorney, so that Miss Whittaker could sign

cheques and so on for her aunt. That was very necessary, you know, on

account of the old lady’s failing powers.”

“Yes—I suppose she was pretty woolly towards the end.”

“Well, she was quite sensible when I took over from Nurse Philliter in

September, except, of course, for that fancy she had about poisoning.”

“She really was afraid of that?”

“She said once or twice, ‘I’m not going to die to please anybody,

Nurse.’ She had great confidence in me. She got on better with me than

with Miss Whittaker, to tell you the truth, Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe. But

during October, her mind began to give way altogether, and she rambled a

lot. She used to wake up sometimes all in a fright and say, ‘Have they

passed it yet, Nurse?’—just like that. I’d say, ‘No, they haven’t got

that far yet,’ and that would quiet her. Thinking of her hunting days, I

expect she was. They often go back like that, you know, when they’re

being kept under drugs. Dreaming, like, they are, half the time.”

“Then in the last month or so, I suppose she could hardly have made a

will, even if she had wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think she could have managed it then.”

“But earlier on, when the lawyer was there, she could have done so if

she had liked?”

“Certainly she could.”

“But she didn’t?”

“Oh no. I was there with her all the time, at her particular request.”

“I see. Just you and Miss Whittaker.”

“Not even Miss Whittaker most of the time. I see what you mean, Mr.

Simms-Gaythorpe, but indeed you should clear your mind of any unkind

suspicions of Miss Whittaker. The lawyer and Miss Dawson and myself were

alone together for nearly an hour, while the clerk drew up the necessary

papers in the next room. It was all done then, you see, because we

thought that a second visit would be too much for Miss Dawson. Miss

Whittaker only came in quite at the end. If Miss Dawson had wished to

make a will, she had ample opportunity to do so.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” said Mr. Simms-Gaythorpe, rising to go.

“These little doubts are so apt to make unpleasantness in families,

don’t you know. Well, I must be toddlin’ now. I’m frightfully sorry you

can’t come with us, Nurse—my wife will be so disappointed. I must try to

find somebody else equally charmin’ if possible. Good-bye.”

Lord Peter removed his hat in the taxi and scratched his head

thoughtfully.

“Another good theory gone wrong,” he murmured. “Well, there’s another

string to the jolly old bow yet. Cropper first and then Crofton—that’s

the line to take, I fancy.”