Heads You Lose Read Online Free PDF Page A

lolling head was thrust, in all its absurdity, Fran’s new hat. A mist like blood passed before his eyes; he closed them to shut out the horror of it, and falling at last on to his sagging knees, he started to crawl towards the horrible figure, going up close to it, flinging aside that frightful, that obscene gay hat; and pushing away the dark hair that hung, blood-clotted, across the face, he staggered to his feet and, at the side of the ditch, lay panting and vomiting till the world was still again.
    But it was not Francesca’s lovely face that had leered out at him, dark and distorted, from the tangle of dripping hair; the body in the ditch, the severed head, the face beneath the brave little hat—they were Grace Morland’s.
    Lady Hart had roused herself by the time Pendock got back to the house, and was sitting on the edge of his bed, still looking frightened and dazed. “It’s Grace Morland,” he said, wasting no time. “She’s been murdered. We’ve got to get hold of Fran.”
    She looked as though she would faint again, but pulled herself together and staggered to her feet. “Thank God it isn’t Fran—I was terrified. I couldn’t think straight… I’m afraid I must have fainted after I spoke to you, and I’ve just been sitting here, trying to pull myself together. We’d better go to her room.”
    She was curled up like a kitten, apparently sound asleep in her bed. As they switched on the light, she stirred and turned over and opened a drowsy eye. “Who is it? What is it? Granny! Is it an air raid?”
    Lady Hart stared at her, thunderstruck. “Francesca! How long have you been in bed?”
    “How long?” asked Fran, pushing back her hair and sitting up staring at them. “All night; well, I mean, ever since I came to bed. I’ve been asleep for hours.”
    “There’s been an accident,” said Pendock, coming forward into the room. “Something’s happened to Grace Morland. They’ve found her—well, she’s dead, poor thing.”
    “Dead? Grace Morland? How could she be dead?”
    Terror had made Pendock angry and irritable. He said roughly: “By the simple expedient of having her head cut off.”
    The door of Venetia’s room opened and she came out in her dressing-gown, the dachshund clasped in her arms. “I thought I heard voices. Has something happened? Is it an air raid?”
    “Grace Morland’s had her head cut off,” said Fran, and burst into hysterical laughter.
    Lady Hart looked warningly at Pendock and sat down on the edge of the bed, her arm round her granddaughter’s shoulders. “Hush, darling. Calm yourself. You’re behaving badly. I’m afraid poor Miss Morland’s had an accident, Venetia. They found her in the garden. Pen’s just been down to see.”
    Henry Gold appeared, moving quietly into their midst, dark and a little mysterious, his quick eyes searching their faces. Venetia ran to him. “Henry, Grace Morland’s been killed!”
    “Grace Morland?” he said. “What, the woman who was here this afternoon? How on earth could she have got killed?”
    “She’s been murdered,” said Pendock harshly, maddened by their stupidly staring eyes and bewildered speech. “It’s the same as the girl in the summer. She’s lying in the culvert at the bottom of the drive, and she’s had her head cut off. Bunsen is there, and I got hold of one of the gardeners.”
    “Have you rung up the police?” said Henry.
    “No, I haven’t had time to think. I suppose we’d better do that at once. And does one get a doctor?”
    “Not if you’re sure she’s dead. The police will see to it.”
    “She’s dead all right,” said Pendock savagely, seeing again that dreadful corpse in the ditch. “Her head—look here, Henry, go and ring the police for me, will you? I’ve had a bit of a shock and I feel rather… ghastly…” He walked like an automaton into his bedroom and closed the door.
    Pigeonsford village is a collection of cottages and small shops that have grown up around what is