A Bitter Truth (17 page)

“Then he must have had it with him when he was killed. It looks rather bleak for Merrit, doesn’t it? As does his disappearance. Mrs. Ellis is waiting, Bess, you should go.”

“Is there any possibility that Willy killed Hughes and Davis Merrit?”

“I doubt it. First of all there’s no motive that I can think of. And I don’t believe he has the capacity to carry out an elaborate lie. I spoke to him yesterday. He can hardly put a coherent sentence together.”

“Yes, and I’d seen Davis Merrit give him money. He seemed so grateful.” I remembered the marble kitten and related what I’d feared. “How could a blind man know about that—if indeed it was the murder weapon? Much less put it back almost exactly where he’d found it? I didn’t notice it had been moved, but Mrs. Ellis did.”

“Interesting. I’ll see what I can discover about the wound. And pay a visit to the churchyard.”

“Simon, I must go. Please don’t go back to London just yet. I’ll feel safer knowing you’re here in Hartfield. Besides, the police tell us nothing.”

“I won’t leave until I can escort you to Somerset. You still have your pistol?”

“Yes. I even carried it to the church service this morning, I’m ashamed to say. I’d forgot it was in my pocket.”

“Carry it everywhere.” He walked me to the door of the inn. “This is all speculation,” he warned me. “For all we know, Davis Merrit took it into his head to visit a cousin or went to London to see a specialist. He may turn up with a very solid alibi.”

“Let’s hope so,” I said. But then that would mean that someone at Vixen Hill was a killer.

Simon asked, “Was it raining the morning that Hughes was killed?”

“It was overcast. I don’t believe it had started to rain.”

“But he might have taken an umbrella with him, and the note you found was one intended for him.”

“He didn’t have an umbrella with him when we found him.”

“He could have left it in the stand at the church, before walking down the path. Are you quite sure that you took out the same umbrella that you’d brought with you this morning?”

“No,” I said slowly. “It was Roger Ellis who handed it to me. His mother and I shared it on the way to the motorcar. And then it was decided that I should travel with Roger. And so I kept it, since she could share with Lydia.”

“Interesting. I’d not mention the note to anyone else. It might not be wise.”

I walked out to the motorcar, where Lydia was waiting, staring at Bluebell Cottage as if she could see through the very walls and into the house. As Simon turned the crank for me, she said, “He’s not in there, is he? I can feel it. The cottage is empty. Well. So much for our friendship.”

As we drove away, she added, “I liked him. Not as a lover or anything of that sort. As a friend. I expect part of it was pity for his blindness, and part of it was the man who loved books as much as I did. Roger isn’t a great reader, did you know? Too busy for one thing. Even before the war, he had the estate to manage and all that. He worked hard. His father’s early death left a void, and by the time Roger was old enough to take over, poor management had taken its toll. To his credit, he brought Vixen Hill back to where it was the day Juliana died. I expect that was partly why he did it, as well. Not just for his mother’s sake.”

We saw Willy as we slowed to pass children playing hoops in the street. He was standing on a corner watching them, and I thought his face was sad. And then we had moved on, and I could no longer see him.

If Lydia noticed him standing there, she made no mention of it to me.

I think Mrs. Ellis was relieved when we pulled up in front of the house. She came into the hall to greet us, and as Daisy took our coats, she said, “Do you have any idea why Inspector Rother came all this way to ask me about George’s watch? It seems rather silly.”

Lydia didn’t reply, asking Daisy if there was any tea to be had after the cold drive from Hartfield.

I said, “What reason did the Inspector give you for asking?”

She smiled. “You know policemen. They don’t explain anything.”

“Do you remember seeing the watch?” I asked, curious.

“Oh yes. It was his brother’s. It was sent back to him from the Front, when Malcolm was killed. It meant the world to him.”

“No, I mean, did you actually see it this weekend?”

She frowned. “I’m sure I did. Thursday night, I think, just before we went to bed.”

The same time I’d seen it.

“Did that please Inspector Rother? That you could answer his question for him?”

“He seemed very satisfied. Odd little man, isn’t he? If he weren’t an Inspector, no one would take any notice of him, would they?”

“I expect he’s a good policeman.”

“Yes, well, I hope we’ve seen the last of him. This whole business has been very trying. Especially for Roger. The last time the police came to Vixen Hill, it was to tell us that someone had found his father’s body. He doesn’t feel much sympathy for them. Bearers of bad tidings, he always said. And it’s true, isn’t it? There’s never a policeman about unless he’s bringing bad news.”

I hadn’t known the police had come about Matthew Ellis, Roger’s father. I should have expected it, for it explained his animosity toward them. How old had he been then? Eight? Nine? It was an age when memories were sharp and permanent. I could picture myself at that age, seeing my first body in India. A beggar, lying along the road, wrapped against the cold night, dying in his sleep. Or at least I’d hoped he had. My father was angry that I’d seen him. The Colonel Sahib had taken me out for the day, and his men had made certain our route was safe. The subaltern who had missed the corpse got a severe dressing down. But I knew what death was. It hadn’t taken a corpse on the roadside to give it a face. I’d seen the worry in my mother’s eyes whenever my father was in the field. She made light of it, but the fear was there—that one day his luck would run out, and a bullet would find him. It didn’t matter whether it was a bandit’s shot or a Pathan warrior’s or a nervous recruit’s accidental discharge of his weapon. Death was not uncommon in India.

I realized much, much later that it wasn’t the corpse that had disturbed the Colonel Sahib, but the fact that it could just as easily have been someone lying in wait for us. He had enemies, my father did. My mother had known that too.

Daisy brought tea to the sitting room, where it was warmer, and we all gathered there. Lydia was silent, and Roger Ellis had a grim set to his mouth. I think he must have guessed why Lydia had wanted to go into Hartfield.

That evening, just before we went in to dinner, we heard the distant clanging of the heavy knocker on the door. Daisy went to answer the summons and a few minutes later brought Inspector Rother to the drawing room, where we were finishing our sherry. He greeted Gran and Mrs. Ellis politely, then turned to Roger.

“I’ve come to inform you that we are satisfied that no one here is connected to the murder of George Hughes. You’re free to go about your own affairs as you please.”

Surprised, Mrs. Ellis thanked him. Across the room, Lydia’s face lost all color.

It was Gran who demanded, “The least you can do after all we’ve been through is to tell us who killed poor George. He was a dear friend, you know, not a stranger who happened by. We’re as relieved as the police must be that his killer is caught, of course we are. But we would appreciate a few answers.”

Inspector Rother nodded. “I understand, Madam. It will come out in the inquest, which will be held on Tuesday at The King’s Head. We have reason to believe it was one Davis Merrit.”

Mrs. Ellis exclaimed, “Surely not! I mean to say, he’s blind.”

“It doesn’t take sight, Madam, to strike a man on the back of his head. Or drag him toward the water.”

“But how did he get to the church? How did he know that George would be there?” Lydia asked.

“He keeps a horse, I understand, and goes out riding from time to time. He’s not precisely without resources. And the horse can find his way back to the stable, should it be necessary.”

“What was his motive?” I asked, wanting to know what the police had discovered.

“That hasn’t yet been determined, Miss Crawford,” he said in a tone of voice that brooked no further questions on that subject.

Roger Ellis said, echoing his mother, “We thank you for coming to speak to us. I’ll see you out.”

As they left the room, Henry, Margaret’s husband, said into the silence, “Well, that was quick work. I expected we might be here for several more days.”

“At least it wasn’t one of us,” Margaret said, her voice a little unsteady. I wondered if she knew how worried her mother had been about that.

It was Eleanor who made the remark none of us had considered. “Perhaps this man Merrit was out riding and came upon George along the way, and they went on together.”

Henry rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder as he stood behind her chair. “It still doesn’t explain why Merrit should suddenly kill someone he accidentally encounters on a track in Ashdown Forest. There must be more to this.”

Lydia turned her face away, toward the window. I could almost guess what she was thinking. That she’d given Davis Merrit a reason to search out and speak to Lieutenant Hughes. But why it should lead to murder was another matter. Unless I was right about his feelings for Lydia.

Still, even if he was in love with her, what purpose could be served by killing George after he’d already told everyone about the child? I should have thought that killing Roger would have been more appropriate as an expression of devotion. If one could call murder that.

Gran had the last word. “Well, one thing to be said for Davis Merrit as the killer, you shan’t be required to read to him any longer,” she told Lydia. “Ah, here’s Daisy. I thought that Inspector would keep us from our dinner. Henry, give me your arm. You can take me into the dining room.”

Henry turned to offer her his arm, and Gran led the way with the air of a woman who was very satisfied with herself. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I thought,
She’s gloating.

But what exactly did she have to gloat about?

Was it just the fact that Roger had been exonerated? Or was there something more? Watching her, I realized that in spite of her age, she was fit and a good walker. She could easily have followed George to the church and even killed him. She was tall enough. Strong enough.

And George would never have expected trouble from her.

Chapter Ten

B
y the time we had absorbed the fact that we were free to go, it was too late to do more than discuss whether to leave in the morning or the day after the inquest.

Lydia said to me quietly after dinner, “I’ve never really unpacked. If Simon would agree to take us to London, it would be easier. But I will take the train if he can’t manage it. Or if he’s concerned about what Roger might say or do.”

I couldn’t imagine Simon Brandon being afraid of anyone. But I understood that she was trying to protect him from an unpleasant scene. And Roger Ellis was likely to make one.

“We must get word to him,” I said, “unless he learns of the news in Hartfield.”

And where was Davis Merrit? Alive and on the run—or a dead scapegoat?

“I’ll pack my own things,” I told her. “Then we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

But after breakfast, I happened to notice that one of the Ellis motorcars had been brought around. And I could hear Gran’s voice echoing around the hall, raised in anger and fear.

I ran down the stairs, thinking that something terrible must have happened. But when I got to the hall, I found only Mrs. Ellis sitting by the hearth, tears streaming down her face while Gran was at the door, arguing vehemently with her grandson.

It was only then that I noticed that he was wearing his uniform and his greatcoat. I’d seen him in his uniform every day, but this time he wore it with a very different air. I’d been a part of a military family all my life, and I knew the look of a man on his way to war.

He turned to me as I came into the room and halted abruptly, realizing that I’d walked into the middle of a family quarrel.

“Will you please tell Lydia for me that there’s no need for her to leave Vixen Hill? I’m rejoining my regiment tomorrow morning. I’ll be on my way to France in a few days’ time. She’ll be safer here than on her own in London.”

I answered, before I’d quite considered what I was saying, “Your leave isn’t up. I should think your family still needs you. And this business with Lieutenant Hughes’s death has surely reopened old wounds.”

“She’s right,” Gran said, holding out a hand to me, asking me to join her at the door. “We still need you, Roger. Don’t be rash. Sleep on this decision. You may feel differently tomorrow.”

“Ten days or so won’t make all that much difference,” he said shortly. “It’s better if I go and get it over with.”

Mrs. Ellis said from her chair near the fire, “And if you are killed in those ten days? Do you think we will find that easy to bear?”

Gran said angrily, “Let Lydia go to London and get it out of her system. She’ll come back, wait and see if she doesn’t. This is her home, you’re her husband. She’ll come to her senses soon enough. There’s no need to penalize your mother and me just to punish her.”

“I’m not punishing her,” he wearily answered his grandmother. “We’ve got off on the wrong foot. I’ve been away three years. I came back a very different man from the one she remembered. If I leave now, before anything else goes wrong, we might salvage something out of this muddle of a marriage.”

But Gran wasn’t to be put off. “You’re going back for all the wrong reasons. If you’re killed, should we blame Lydia for sending you away like this? I promise you we shall. It’s her fault as much as yours, and your mother and I will be the ones to have to live with that.”

“I’m not going to die, Gran. God willing, the war will end soon. Now the Americans have stepped in, we’ll have a chance to see this business finished. When I come home again, Lydia and I may be able to mend matters and live together somehow.”

Gran was inconsolable and said fiercely, “Think of your mother if you don’t care about breaking my heart. You were the closest to Juliana. Losing you will be like losing her all over again. You can’t do that to her. Now go back upstairs and put this foolishness behind you. We’ll say no more about it.”

He bent to kiss her cheek. “Good-bye, Gran.” And he was off, striding to the motorcar without looking back. “I’ll leave it at the station. You can pick it up anytime that suits,” he called as he got behind the wheel. And then he was gone.

Gran stood there in the open doorway, the cold winter air swirling around her, blowing her gray hair free from the bun at the nape of her neck and whipping it in her eyes. She brushed it away and watched her grandson out of sight.

Then she turned and without a word stalked across the hall to the stairs and climbed them.

Mrs. Ellis, trying to stifle her sobs, had shut her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to see the motorcar disappear down the lane. Then she got to her feet and without looking at me, murmured in a voice thick with tears, “I must speak to Molly about lunch.”

And she was gone, leaving me there in the hall alone.

I didn’t quite know what to make of what appeared to be Roger Ellis’s altruism.

It dawned on me that he was running away, more than he was running to.

Who did he really believe murdered George Hughes? Davis Merrit for Lydia’s sake—Lydia herself—or someone else in his own family?

For that matter, had he himself killed his friend? I couldn’t see why. Unless it was to prevent Lieutenant Hughes from bringing that child home from France.

There was nothing I could do. For any of them. And if I left, they would be free to mourn Roger’s decision in their own way.

I started for the door, but Margaret came in, concern drawing her brows together in a frown.

“What on earth is wrong with Mama? She’s stripping Roger’s bed as if her life depended on it. And I can’t get a word out of her!”

“He’s just left,” I told her. “To rejoin his regiment.”

“No, you must be mistaken. He didn’t come to say good-bye—”

I didn’t know how to answer her.

“It’s Lydia, isn’t it? He can’t bear to be in the same house with her now.”

“I don’t think—” I began, attempting to say that it wasn’t my place to pass judgment.

But Margaret cut across my words. “Don’t try to defend her. Neither one of them is blame free, I’m aware of that. They’ve been at odds almost since Roger came home. But Lydia leaving for London the way she did was a last straw. And her work with Davis Merrit didn’t help matters. Did she tell you? She refused to give it up, even after Roger asked her to break it off. I don’t condone his striking her. But you can only push someone like my brother so far.”

She paced to the hearth and back. “I don’t know how Mama will cope. Not to mention Gran. It’s really selfish of him to do this to all of us.” But as she turned back toward me, still pacing, I could see the tears in her eyes.

“Your grandmother was terribly angry with him.”

“As well she might be.” She stopped in the middle of the room. “I must tell Henry. We were thinking of leaving this morning, but I expect we ought to stay on for a few more days. Until Mama has come to terms with what he’s done. May I ask if you’re planning to leave today?”

As a hint, it was rather broad. In her eyes, I was responsible for Lydia going to London. And I could easily understand that. “Yes, I expect I shall. If someone will send a message to The King’s Head, for Simon Brandon. He’s driving me to Somerset.”

“Someone must retrieve Roger’s motorcar from the railway station. If an hour’s time will be convenient for you?”

“Yes, of course,” I agreed politely. Then I asked, “Do you think Lydia will still wish to go with me?”

“We’ll be very angry with her, if she does,” Margaret answered tightly. “She’s needed here. Henry and I can’t stay more than a few extra days. And what then?”

“There’s Alan’s wife.”

“No. It needs to be Lydia. She’s Roger’s wife, after all, and she has duties here.”

I thought it a very selfish perspective, but didn’t say so.

She left to speak to her husband, and I went to stand at the door, putting off speaking to Lydia. Looking out past the holly trees to the immense stretch of heath spread out before me, I found myself thinking about Roger Ellis, still wondering why he had made such a sudden and dramatic decision. There were so many reasons.

I broke off, looking at the vehicle turning out of the track into the lane that led to Vixen Hill. My first reaction was that Roger had come to his senses, then I realized that it was Simon’s motorcar.

The cavalry had returned.

I went up to find Lydia and tell her what had happened.

“He’s gone?” she asked, stunned. “But why?”

“He said he thought it was the only way to save your marriage. Perhaps he’s right.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No. I won’t believe it. There’s something else.”

“He hoped you’d stay here at Vixen Hill, now that he’s no longer in residence.”

“No, that’s not it either.” She took a turn around the room, thinking, then stopped suddenly and grasped my arm in a grip that hurt. “He’s going to find that child, Bess. I’d be ready to wager my life that he is. But why? To bring her home? There’s no other reason, is there?”

I remember what George had said to me, that he shouldn’t have waited for Roger Ellis to come to a decision about the little girl. He should have gone ahead and claimed her if he could.

Lydia went on, still gripping my arm, “He wants her dead, doesn’t he? He doesn’t want a reminder of Juliana. Juliana never grew up, you see, she’s always and forever the perfect child. But a real reminder of Juliana might have a mind of her own, and even while she looked like Juliana, she might have a very different temperament. Was it fear of disillusionment that drove Roger to abandon her? Or the fact that he couldn’t replace Juliana with a bastard child?”

If the child had looked like her mother, or a great-aunt, a very different child from Juliana, would Roger have been willing to take her in?

It was an interesting thought.

Lydia was saying, “You must find that little girl before Roger does. Do you hear, Bess? For my sake, as well as hers.”

“Are you sure you want any part of her?” I asked. “Think about it, Lydia, there will be reminders of her mother in many of the things she does. Are you willing to live with that?”

“I may never have a child of my own,” she told me bitterly, letting my arm go. “This may be all I ever have. Please, Bess, you must promise.”

“I’ve told you. I can’t promise anything. I have duties, Lydia, remember? I can’t search France for one child while so many wounded need my care.”

“But you will try?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me. “When you can?”

“Yes, all right, I’ll try,” I said, “but I won’t promise because it will be like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

“No, it won’t,” she told me, the force of conviction in her voice. “You’ve seen the portrait. You may not know a name, but you will know her face the instant you see it. And that’s what matters.”

There was nothing more I could say to change her mind, and so I told her that I’d glimpsed Simon coming up the drive.

“I’m going home, Lydia. You’re safe now, there’s nothing to fear.”

To my surprise—I was expecting an uphill battle—she said, “Yes, it’s the best thing for you. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll stay here. It won’t be easy, but I really was dreading facing London on my own. I was so frightened the last time, so lost and alone. That’s why I wanted so badly to stay with you.”

I hadn’t realized that she’d been afraid of returning to London. She had been so adamant about leaving here. That was an indication of the stress driving her that she was willing to brave a city where she knew no one with the exception of me.

“Then you’re not going with me?”

“No. I’ll go and unpack straightaway. Somehow I must make it up to Gran and Mama Ellis for what he’s done. They’ll blame me. I can’t change that. But I don’t want them to realize why he left so precipitously.”

I didn’t tell her that Mrs. Ellis had already been in Roger’s room, stripping the bedding. Instead I asked, “You will see Dr. Tilton again? About your concussion?”

“I promise. But I’m much better. Truly.”

I thought it could be true. But I reminded her that if she couldn’t keep her promise, she would only add to the burdens Gran and Mrs. Ellis carried.

We walked together into the passage, and she said with unexpected warmth, “I really am grateful to you, Bess, more than words can say. You must know that’s true.”

I thought perhaps it was, and smiled at her. “You know where to find me. Anytime,” I told her. “But not in the dead of winter, please.”

She laughed and embraced me quickly. “Thank Simon for me too.”

I went in search of Mrs. Ellis and then Gran, but I couldn’t find either of them. Daisy had admitted Simon, and I hurried to the hall to greet him.

We went together to my room and soon had the motorcar packed with my belongings.

“I can’t leave without a note,” I said. “Mrs. Ellis will think badly of me.”

“Then write it, if that makes you feel better.”

I had a thought. “Come with me to the drawing room. There’s paper and pen there in one of the tables, I’m sure. Meanwhile, I want you to see the portrait over the hearth.”