Guilt in the Cotswolds (13 page)

The two women gave him sceptical looks. ‘Holy?’ said Thea. Judith gave one of her snorts, which served to remind Thea that this really was the same person she’d met on Friday. Up to then, there had been few points of similarity.

Drew stuck to his point. ‘You know what I mean. A big empty space, with sunbeams filtering in, and nothing to distract you.’

‘Richard didn’t see it like that,’ said Judith. ‘He just liked the way it has survived, in an area that doesn’t care very much about agriculture or industrial history or anything like that. He loved the way it’d been built, with that fantastic roof. I think he’d have bought it if he’d had the money, just to keep it safe.’

‘It’d cost a fortune,’ said Drew.

‘But
you
could have afforded it,’ said Thea slowly. ‘Did he ask you to buy it for him?’ That might be at least part of an explanation for the man entering into a relationship with her, she supposed. Again, it suggested a reversal of the expected scenario – although rich young women had certainly been pursued by older men in need of some cash, from time to time.

Judith’s eyes filled again. ‘I would have done, in a heartbeat, if he’d let me. But he was far too proud for that. No – we did joke about going to live in my Chipping Norton house, so I could look after him when
he’s old. He never really liked Chedworth, you see. Said it had painful associations.’

‘But he grew up here, didn’t he?’ said Thea.

‘So? His childhood wasn’t very happy, by all accounts.’

‘There are things from his boyhood still in one of the rooms upstairs.’ Thea was trying to reconcile the idea of an unhappy childhood with the man’s manner on Thursday evening. It did fit reasonably well, she concluded.

‘Are there?’ Judith sniffed back the tears. ‘Can I see them?’

Thea shrugged. ‘I can’t stop you, can I? I’ve got no authority over the house and what happens in it.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t seem to be answerable to anybody, really.’

‘It’s a shambles,’ said Judith. ‘Richard was the lynchpin. Everything went through him. Now he’s left a great black hole and nobody knows what to do.’

The words reflected Thea’s feelings quite accurately. Every time she tried to find an answer or a decision, her instinct to consult Richard Wilshire was thwarted. He had juggled his mother, daughter and girlfriend – and perhaps even the newly arrived cousin. Not to mention the irascible woman across the road. His dogs depended on him, too. Without him there was a sort of implosion. Everyone was scrambling to understand what had happened, assembling scattered bits of information to no particular effect.

‘I see what you mean,’ she said weakly. ‘So, nobody knows what comes next?’

‘I’ll get on to Millie and insist she makes some proper decisions,’ said Judith. ‘I can’t stop now. I’ll come back one day and have a look at the stuff he’s left. Millie might want to come as well.’

‘Good,’ said Drew approvingly. ‘Sounds the best course.’

They all lost patience at the same moment. Judith zipped up her smart jacket and headed for the door. Drew swept up the teacups and took them to the kitchen. Thea did nothing, but her thoughts were all on the stacks of clothes and other things upstairs.

Four o’clock was upon them, and Drew was going to leave, whatever happened. Thea was almost glad. The indecisive standing about had got thoroughly on her nerves, the whole day had been a frustrating waste of time. If Richard Wilshire had fallen off the barn loft by accident, then there was no more to be said. If he had done it on purpose, that raised questions, but they hardly concerned her.

That only left one other possibility, and nobody appeared to be seriously considering that.

Except one person, it seemed. When Judith pulled the front door open, rooting in her pocket for car keys, and staring at the ground, she almost collided with a man. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘I know you.’

Judith’s loud sigh could be heard at the far end of the hallway. Drew came out of the kitchen at a trot, alarmed at the aggressive tone.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

Nobody replied at first. The man had one foot over the threshold, his eyes fixed on Judith’s face. ‘Who are you?’ Drew said again.

‘Brendan Teasdale,’ came the reply, as if this should mean something.

‘Teasdale?’ Thea joined Drew, blocking the way into the house. ‘A relation of the cousin we met this morning, then?’

‘My father is Mrs Wilshire’s nephew. We used to come here now and then, when we were small.’

‘Ah!’ Cogs clicked into place and pennies dropped. ‘Millie said something about that. You’re older than her, though.’

The man was perhaps in his early thirties, his dark hair close-cropped, and he had a fleshy mouth looking as if it smiled much of the time. He showed signs of finding himself both outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. He threw repeated glances at Judith, as if she was the one who really mattered to him.

‘How can we help you?’ asked Drew, in his usual polite fashion.

‘I’ve come to find proof that Richard was murdered,’ he said with a scowl.

As a bombshell, it worked fairly well. Certainly it was a conversation-stopper. Judith stammered, ‘Murdered?’ but otherwise there was silence.

Brendan Teasdale pushed himself further into the house, and closed the door behind himself. Hepzie trotted up to him, clearly intending to jump up at his knees, but then thought better of it. Yet another disappointing encounter, she was plainly thinking.

‘Auntie Rita sent me an email, and forwarded one that Richard wrote a while ago.’

‘When?’ asked Thea.

‘When what?’

‘When did she send the email? Surely she must be far too upset this afternoon to bother with anything like that.’

‘You don’t know my aunt,’ he said, with a hint of pride. ‘She sent it just after three o’clock, saying I should come right over here and have a good look in the attic,
because there could be items that proved Richard was murdered.’ The man continued to glance repeatedly at Judith, his face flushed.

‘But it doesn’t name the killer,’ Drew persisted, his face not quite straight. ‘How very frustrating.’

‘You can’t name people as murderers, in writing. That’s libel.’

‘Not if it’s true,’ said Thea, her head spinning. Drew’s scepticism was almost funny – and yet here was a relative of the dead man making the most serious claim imaginable. He had a stubble-strewn chin, and slightly crumpled clothes, and yet looked well-muscled and healthy. His skin was tanned. His accent was classless. It was impossible to draw any reliable conclusions about him.

‘I don’t have to explain anything to you,’ he said stiffly.

‘It sounds like something in a story,’ said Judith, who was showing no sign of following through her intention of leaving. ‘Or a television play.’

‘It is a bit like something from Agatha Christie,’ Thea agreed. She looked with something like kindness at the man. ‘We don’t altogether believe you, you see.’

‘You would if you knew this family,’ he said, pushing his face towards her. ‘With our history, you’d worry about what might happen, as well.’

‘Are you saying others have been murdered?’ Thea looked at Judith, who might be expected to have some knowledge of the Wilshire background. But all she got was a blank look.

‘Nothing proved,’ said Brendan Teasdale. ‘But people have died without warning. That’s what happened to my grandmother. She was twenty-two, with a young baby, and she just dropped down dead. Completely out of the blue. Everything to live for.’

‘And you think somebody – what? Poisoned her or something?’

‘There were rumours,’ he said darkly.

‘I’ve not heard that story,’ said Thea. ‘But it sounds like natural causes to me. A brain aneurysm or something like that.’

The man shook his head, more in confusion than denial. He had still not recovered from the shock of seeing a famous TV star in the flesh. And now she thought about it, that struck Thea as surprising in itself. Wouldn’t he have been aware that his cousin had such a friend? Wouldn’t it be hot family gossip? But Brendan was still following the thread raised by his dead grandmother. ‘The family never got over it,’ he said. ‘Auntie Rita kept all her sister’s things. I suppose you’ve seen them.’

‘Yes. Richard employed me to sift through it, and make an inventory of it all,’ said Thea impatiently. She had been forced to give this same account of herself a few too many times. ‘So what?’

‘Have you sifted through things in the attic?’

‘Not yet.’ Thea was suddenly reminded of another attic in another Cotswolds house. Cold Aston, it had been, and the attic had harboured some real surprises.

‘Good. I’ll go up there now and see what I can find.’

Judith stirred at last. ‘Have you told Millie about all this? Shouldn’t she be here – or at least kept in the loop?’

‘I haven’t seen Millie since she was five years old. Why would I talk to her now?’

‘For one thing, her father’s just died, and you might want to offer her your condolences,’ Judith shot back. ‘If you really are part of the family, of course. How do we know you’re not some sneak thief coming to check the place for antiques?’

The man’s colour grew even darker at this. ‘Ask me anything about the family, then. I know it all. I’ve been doing my research for a while now.’

‘So why haven’t you seen Millie?’ asked Thea. ‘That sounds very odd.’

‘I was in Dubai with my father until a couple of months ago. We met Richard and Auntie Rita a few days after we got back. Millie was never around.’

‘I don’t think I can let you just barge up to the attic,’ Thea worried. ‘We ought to check with Mrs Wilshire’s solicitor or somebody, first.’

Drew caught her eye and mouthed
We
? with raised eyebrows. She gave a rueful little shrug in response. ‘And if it
was
murder,’ she went on, ‘we ought to inform the police. Show them the email and let them look for this so-called proof.’ She heard herself with mild surprise. Brendan Teasdale was agitated, jiggling his hands and working his lips all the time. He seemed
to have no idea of his next move, but to be working from some fixed idea that was not going to adapt itself to unexpected situations. He was so obviously thrown by the presence of Judith, even after she had spoken to him like an ordinary human being, that any credibility he might have had was leaking away.

Then Judith shook herself and made an abrupt departure, saying very little. Drew watched her enviously. He could not leave so easily. The Teasdale man was an impediment to fond farewells. And nothing had been decided as to where Thea would spend the coming night. His wish had been that she would pack up her dog and follow him down to North Staverton. Now that seemed to be a receding hope.

‘The police won’t listen until we have something concrete to show them,’ said the man, who had let Judith go without protest. His single-track purpose was at least uncomplicated. Interestingly, he showed no sign of fear or guilt at the mention of the police. ‘I’m going upstairs now. You can’t stop me.’

‘At least I can go with you and see what you get up to,’ said Thea, feeling brave.

‘Why would you do that?’ The man seemed genuinely puzzled.

‘Let him do it by himself,’ said Drew. ‘We’ve got no grounds to stop him.’
Mind your own business
, was the plain subtext to his words.

She was reproaching herself for her timidity concerning the attic. If she hadn’t been such a fool
about spiders, she would have gone up there on the first day, and perhaps found the whatever-it-was that showed Richard Wilshire was in danger. Exactly what it might be was impossible to guess. She wanted to see it for herself, if it existed. Drew had made no secret of his wholesale scepticism over the story, but it did at least appear that Brendan expected to find something. And that was enough for Thea. Besides, attics, as she had already been thinking, could be magically amazing at times.

‘I want to,’ she said stubbornly. A new thought occurred. ‘After all, Richard expected me to go up there. It was part of the job. He and I talked about it on Thursday. I just hadn’t got around to it. I suppose he wanted
me
to find this mysterious evidence. Otherwise, he’d have just told you or your father about it.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘He didn’t trust either of you – that must be it.’

‘Thea!’ Drew was making the same horrified face she had seen before when she overstepped a mark.

‘He hadn’t seen me for twenty-five years,’ said Brendan Teasdale. ‘I doubt if he even remembered my name. Or my sisters’. He certainly never sent us any cards at Christmas or birthdays. And he didn’t have much time for my dad, either. That doesn’t mean he thinks we can’t be trusted.’

‘Sisters?’ Thea was intent on getting the full picture.

‘Older than me. Linda and Carol. I don’t see them much. They’ve both got families. One lives in Kent. She
came up a month or so ago to visit Auntie Rita. The other one’s been in Panama for the past three years. We’re rather a nomadic lot, I suppose.’ He seemed to find this a melancholy thought.

Thea entertained a picture of a burgeoning family tree, spreading in all directions with unsuspected offshoots. ‘Have you got a mother?’ she asked.

‘Of course I have. She lives in France most of the time.’ Despite his desire to go up to the attic, he evidently felt compelled to answer her questions. She did have that effect on people much of the time and had no qualms about exploiting it.

‘Not with your father?’

He gave a scornful little laugh. ‘She’s on her third husband, and I wouldn’t put money on him lasting much longer.’

‘Your poor father must think women will always abandon him,’ she said. ‘With his mother dying as she did.’

‘He was far too young to remember that. Auntie Rita took care of him for a while. Then he went away to school and she had Richard. Not much fun for him, I imagine, but he wasn’t the only one.’

‘Sounds rather Victorian to me.’

‘So, let’s go, then,’ said Drew, surprisingly. ‘I can see we’ll just be standing here all night, otherwise.’

As if a switch had been flicked, they trooped upstairs, the dog taking up the rear. Drew pulled down the metal ladder that cleverly unfolded itself as it dropped. ‘Is there a light up there?’ Drew asked.

‘No idea,’ said Brendan Teasdale. ‘It’s been changed a lot since I last saw it. We had to use a stepladder to get into it in my day.’

‘Yes, there’s a window,’ said Thea. ‘A Velux, I think.’

Drew rubbed his face, as if to dispel annoying thoughts. ‘It amazes me that Mrs Wilshire could send emails only a couple of hours after hearing her only son has died. It seems incredible.’

‘It’s not,’ said Brendan. ‘I can’t pretend to know her very well, but it didn’t take long to work out she’s made of stern stuff. It’s a family thing. They don’t waste much time on sentiment.’

‘Was your father there with her when she was emailing?’ asked Thea.

‘Probably. I haven’t heard from him. But she’ll have been glad to have him there. She always preferred him to Richard, apparently. That was one reason Dad went off abroad for most of his life. He wanted to leave the field clear for Richard to get his due from her. He’s a generous chap, my dad.’

The whole family was still an enigma to Thea, and this young man in particular confused her. First he burst into the house, only to be poleaxed by the sight of a famous celebrity. Then he let himself be delayed and diverted by a welter of questions. Protective of his father, dismissive of Millie and in no way impatient to report an apparent murder to the police, he seemed to be following some great imperative that made as little sense to him as it did to anybody else. ‘Did somebody
tell
you to come here?’ she asked. ‘Have you any idea what you’re looking for?’

‘Auntie Rita,’ he repeated. ‘She said I should come.’

There was something childlike about the use of ‘Auntie’. Didn’t most people revert to ‘aunt’ when they reached their twenties? Like ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’. But then, Brendan had said he had two older sisters. He was the baby of the family, still spoilt and patronised. She was searching for clues to his character, she realised, wanting to know as much as she could about these Wilshires and Teasdales and the past hundred years of their history.

But at the same time she was distracted by the continued presence of Drew, who should have left for home ten minutes ago, at the latest. Drew had moved away from her in some alarming way, during the day. He had turned slippery and detached, his mood impossible to read. She glanced behind her, where he was waiting at the foot of the steps. She was sandwiched between two men, both of them with minds focused somewhere she could not grasp.

‘When did she come to this house?’ she asked.

‘When my grandmother died – obviously.’ His voice was muffled as the upper part of his body vanished into the attic.

‘Why obviously?’ she demanded. ‘How is it obvious?’

‘Because this was
her
house. My gran’s, that is. When she died, her sister inherited it.’

‘But—’ It was an awkward position from which to
conduct a conversation. ‘Didn’t she have a husband? Wouldn’t he have got it? Why a sister?’

‘Whew!’

‘What?’

Brendan was in the attic, and Thea scrambled up the last steps and onto the bare floorboards beside him. It was full of light, thanks to the centrally positioned window on the rear side, looking over the garden at the back. The roof was just high enough for a person to stand upright in the middle.

At first it seemed disappointingly ordinary. Three or four tea chests were tucked as far as they would go under the sloping roof beams; a brown trunk beside them; a stack of framed pictures leant against the back wall, beside a chimney breast; countless cardboard boxes; several rolled-up rugs; a standard lamp. It was like a rather poorly stocked junk shop. Drew pushed up beside her.

‘So?’ he said.

‘Drew – why are you still here?’ Thea demanded. ‘You’re going to be terribly late.’

‘I’ve already phoned Pandora and asked her to hold the fort until I get home. It’ll be okay,’ he said absently. ‘I did it while we were still downstairs. You never noticed.’ He scanned the attic with an air of disappointment. ‘Looks fairly unexciting to me.’

Brendan was darting from side to side, pulling at boxes and then bending over the pictures.

‘How can there be anything to prove Richard was
murdered?’ Thea asked. ‘It’s a ridiculous idea. If he knew somebody was going to kill him, why didn’t he go to the police?’

‘He didn’t
know
. He was scared it
might
happen. So he left a suggestion as to where we might look to understand why. Isn’t that it?’ It was Drew, addressing Brendan, putting words into his mouth. ‘As a kind of insurance.’

‘Something like that,’ Brendan agreed. He was still inspecting the pictures, turning them round one at a time. They had been stacked with their backs to the middle of the attic. Some of them were quite large. ‘Landscapes and a couple of portraits,’ he muttered.

‘Ancestors?’ Thea asked.

‘No idea. Never seen them before. What else is there, then?’ He moved away, stepping over the carpet and opening another cardboard box. ‘Stamps!’ He sounded excited. ‘The famous stamp collection. I thought it must have got sold or stolen ages ago. They were my great-grandmother’s, originally. Auntie Rita’s mother. She was born in 1888. Everybody collected stamps then, apparently.’