A Fête Worse Than Death (23 page)

‘Now is hardly the time,' he said quietly.

‘What's wrong with now?' she demanded. ‘If you do know anything bad about Richard, tell me.'

‘
Is
there anything, Mr Lawrence?' asked Mrs Verrity. ‘After all, it seems an ideal match on the face of it.' Her voice was light but her expression puzzled Haldean. It was as if she were waiting. That was it. Waiting.

Marguerite stared at her. ‘An ideal match? After all you said to him? How can you?'

‘Marguerite!' Lady Rivers spoke in shocked surprise. ‘Please withdraw that remark immediately.'

Mrs Verrity waved her silent, her eyes fixed on the girl. ‘No. Don't withdraw it. Explain it.'

‘I . . . I . . .' began Marguerite. ‘I know you don't want Richard to marry me,' she said desperately.

‘I?' Mrs Verrity didn't look disturbed or annoyed; merely curious. ‘Why should I have any feelings on the matter? Colonel Whitfield is an old acquaintance but that is all. Who he marries is a matter of complete indifference to me.'

‘Oh!' Marguerite stared at her, then dropped her eyes. ‘I don't understand,' she said miserably. ‘I just don't understand.'

Isabelle came from behind her mother and took Marguerite's arm. ‘Come with me, Maggie. We'll go and sit down somewhere and you can tell me all about it. For heaven's sake, get out of the way, Jack, you're blocking the doorway. Come on.' Isabelle glanced round as if to say ‘It's all right now,' and Marguerite let herself be led away.

‘Well!' said Lady Rivers as they went back into the drawing room. She shut the door behind her and shook her head. ‘I must apologize for Marguerite's behaviour. I really don't know what got into her. Jack, do you know what's behind it?'

‘She's just seen Colonel Whitfield,' said Haldean. ‘I knew she was upset and I tried to stop her from coming in here. I'm sorry I didn't handle it better. She'll feel awful when she realizes how she's behaved.'

Mrs Verrity shrugged. ‘She is upset about her young man. When these affairs march badly then it is only natural. Of course it was I to whom Colonel Whitfield was talking when she heard his unfortunate outburst, so it is understandable, perhaps, that she should involve me. Major Haldean, did you really say that Richard was being blackmailed?'

‘Of course I didn't. I said nothing of the sort.'

She looked up with a little smile. ‘He has, as you say, the wrong end of the stick? But such an accusation would upset him very much.'

‘I guess it'd upset any man,' said Hugh Lawrence.

She turned and smiled at him. ‘Mr Lawrence, you too came in for some criticism. Do excuse me, but I am a foreigner and therefore have, perhaps, an imperfect grasp of the etiquette in these matters, but I am curious as to why you refused your consent to Miss Vayle's marriage to Richard. I gather you have but there seems to be no obvious reason why you should.'

Mr Lawrence smiled back and shook his head. ‘I'm afraid you aren't going to draw me that way, Mrs Verrity. I don't like the guy. Simple as that. I've never believed he could give a snap of his fingers for the girl and I've always said as much. And after the other night who's to say I'm wrong? You heard him, Major Haldean heard him, Marguerite heard him and as far as I'm concerned he's through.'

‘So you know nothing?'

‘How could I? I'm sure I could find something if I did a bit of digging but the past is the past. As long as he keeps out of Marguerite's way that'll be fine by me. He can do what he likes and good luck to him. I'll go back to Canada and he'll never hear of me again. But there's one thing for sure. He's not going to touch a penny of that girl's money.'

‘You are very blunt, Mr Lawrence.'

He grinned at her, the lines round his eyes crinkling. ‘I guess I am, aren't I? Why don't you put it down Lo an imperfect grasp of etiquette?'

Haldean opened the gate out of the top paddock of the Whitfield estate, standing by to latch it shut after Ashley. ‘Did you say that Whitfield was a bit perturbed?'

‘Colonel Whitfield,' said Ashley, ‘is hopping mad. You seem to have got up his nose good and proper. He saw the Chief again this morning. I suppose he was all worked up after his scene with Miss Vayle, but you came in for some fairly vigorous criticism.'

‘My heart is broken and my spirit crushed,' replied Haldean, shutting the gate.

The stables were swathed in a deep blanket of summer afternoon silence, but Young Alfred had informed them that, although the master weren't about, he should be coming along Rickett's Lane soon enough. Screwing his eyes up in the sun, he had professed his astonishment that the gennel'men didn't mind where Rickett's Lane was; waving an explanatory hand in the direction of the top paddock he averred they couldn't miss it. And, oddly enough, they couldn't. The lane ran out of Breedenbrook, up to the fields belonging to the livery stables and stopped at the gate before straggling off humbly as a path across the Downs.

Haldean leaned against the flint-studded gatepost, tipping his hat slightly forward to shield his eyes from the sun. A fresh breeze brought a hint of the distant sea mixed with the scent of grass, thyme and clover. Not far away the roofs of Thackenhurst were visible, but not even a wisp of smoke disturbed the still air. A flock of black-faced sheep on a distant slope were the only other living things in sight. He breathed a deep sigh of contentment and looked at Ashley. ‘What did Whitfield tell the Chief I'd done?'

‘Hinted that he's been mixed up in blackmail.'

Haldean broke off a piece of grass and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘The odd thing is, you know, that I did nothing of the sort. I told you everything that happened at the ball. I'll grant I was a bit short with him, but he'd needled me. I talked about blackmail, certainly, but only because he knew all about it already, thanks to the Chief Constable. I say, Ashley, you're not in trouble because of anything I've done, are you?'

Ashley sucked his cheeks in. ‘I can't say the Chief's happy but that, to be honest, is his business. If he hadn't insisted on telling Whitfield all about it, then none of this would have happened in the first place. But look here, Haldean, you don't think Whitfield really was being blackmailed, do you?'

‘I didn't. To be honest it had never occurred to me. When he went up like a rocket I thought he was getting agitated on Marguerite's behalf. I'm not nearly so sure now after what I heard the pompous ass say this morning. D'you know he called me a dago?'

‘You said. But he can't possibly have murdered Boscombe. We know that.'

‘I'm not saying he did, but he could be another one of Boscombe and Morton's victims. He'd fit the bill, actually, and that would account for him going off pop. He used to be well off, but he isn't any more. Is that a result of bad investments, taxes or blackmail?'

‘The last two are more or less the same thing, aren't they?' put in Ashley.

Haldean grinned. ‘As you say. Anyway, last autumn he sold two of his brood mares about the same time as Boscombe and Morton cashed in. It might be coincidence, or it might not be. He's got a position and a reputation to keep up and in one thing at least, I know him to have told an outright lie. He said Boscombe had wanted him to write a preface for his book. As far as I can make out that's not actually true. I spent a smoulderingly hot afternoon yesterday trailing round all the likely London publishers to see if any of them had been in touch with Boscombe and requested a preface. The only publishers who had seen the book were the ones I'd originally recommended, Drake and Sanderson, and, as far as they were concerned, Boscombe had withdrawn his manuscript. They certainly hadn't requested a preface from anyone.'

‘Could Boscombe have wanted a preface by Colonel Whitfield to make his book easier to sell?'

‘But why? Drake and Sanderson were perfectly happy with it. To be fair, I can't disprove what Whitfield said, but I don't half suspect it. I think he was lying to cover up what Boscombe had actually said. What that was I don't know.'

Ashley took out his pipe and slowly filled it. ‘I'm going to ask the Colonel. It seems the most straightforward way to me. By the way, did you ever get to the bottom of why Mr Lawrence is so against him marrying Miss Vayle?'

Haldean shrugged. ‘Belle's convinced it's because he's stuck on her himself. She might be right, or it may be that Lawrence knows something about Whitfield that's none too pleasant. I'd wish you'd heard the exchange between Mrs Verrity and Lawrence this morning. I might be reading too much into it, but it had that significant quality, if you know what I mean. Teemed with hidden meaning and all of that. I've given you the gist of it, but I wish you'd been there.'

‘What sort of hidden meaning?'

Haldean hesitated. ‘It sounded as if Lawrence was threatening Whitfield through Mrs Verrity if Whitfield didn't stop making a nuisance of himself to Marguerite. Pass your tobacco over, Ashley. I haven't knocked off smoking, you know.'

Ashley handed over his pouch. ‘But what the devil was he threatening him
with
? If Mr Lawrence knows something or suspects something about Whitfield, why on earth doesn't he tell us? There's no love lost between them, that's for sure.'

Haldean, having discarded the stalk of grass, was busy filling his pipe. ‘Rotten, this, isn't it?' he said, with a sideways glance at Ashley. ‘Two solid, hard, unpalatable facts in the form of murder and a mountain of speculation. D'you think we'll get there?'

Ashley shook his head. ‘I haven't always, you know, in other cases. I've had my suspicions often enough as to the rights of things, but evidence? That's another matter.' A faint continuous noise sounded in the distance, causing him to look up. ‘Hello, is this the Colonel? It's about time.'

They looked down the lane. The black shape of a man on horseback breasted the ridge of the hill at a steady clip, the features blotted out by the sun at his back. Haldean squinted and waved. ‘It's him all right.'

The horse cantered towards them before it suddenly stopped, head tossed back and feet splaying in a jinking dance to one side. The head tossed again, ears flat against its skull. Whitfield seemed to be fighting to stay on its back. He leaned over its neck, struggling for control, then, with a braying whinny, the horse thundered towards them.

‘Run!' shouted Ashley in shocked disbelief. He instinctively pulled Haldean to one side. ‘Run!'

With a jolt of pain Haldean felt his leg go at the knee, sending him sprawling in the dust. There was a brief sight of white, maddened eyes, steel-shod hooves, kicking legs and a monstrous black bulk towering above. He rolled away desperately as the hooves crashed down inches from his ear. The horse reared again. Haldean scrambled to his knees, shying away, then something struck his head in a star-shell of blackness.

Whitfield clung on to the horse's back, one hand matted in the mane. The beast reared and plunged once more, sending him flying. He sprawled in the dust, rolling away from the raging horse. Ashley's world seemed to slow to a crawl. With great deliberation he edged his way between the flailing hooves and the gate. He found the catch and swung the gate back, part of his mind standing back and marvelling at the precision of his movements and the clearness of his thoughts. With the gate open and its way clear, the horse galloped through and raced across the field, where it came to a halt, shivering.

The spell was broken. The world snapped back to its normal speed and with it came noise; a groan from Whitfield, birdsong, the rustle of trees, but absolute silence from Haldean. Ignoring Whitfield, Ashley knelt down by Haldean's side, and carefully touched the blood-caked hair. Resolutely thrusting down the weary sickness that enveloped him, Ashley put a hand on Haldean's chest, closing his eyes with gratitude as he felt the heart quicken beneath the shirt.

There was a scuffle on the road beside him and Whitfield, white-faced and shaking, stood next to them, nursing his upper arm. ‘Is he all right? Satan – the horse – I couldn't hold him. He has a filthy temper. Is he all right?' Ashley nodded, not trusting his voice. ‘You saw I couldn't hold him? You saw that? Are you sure he's all right?'

‘He needs a doctor.'

‘A doctor?' Whitfield winced. ‘So do I.' He glanced down at Haldean. ‘I'll stay here while you go for help.'

‘No!' Ashley jerked the word out involuntarily. In Whitfield's glance he had seen something that was there for only a fraction of a second, but which Ashley knew, knew beyond all argument, was hatred. In those few hundredths of a second all his suspicions flared and focused on the man, leaving him utterly certain that he had just witnessed an attempt at cold-blooded murder.

He saw Whitfield's eyes widen in surprise and forced himself to pick his words carefully. There had to be a reason. Think!
I'm not leaving him with you
. . . He couldn't say that. ‘You can walk. It's better if you go because you can give instructions to your men.' Steady, commanding voice now, Superintendent. ‘Off you go, sir. Every moment may be precious.'

Whitfield paused then nodded, before half-walking, half-stumbling through the gate, across the field, past the now shivering and quiescent horse and into the stable yard.

Ashley loosened Haldean's tie and undid his collar. Taking off his own jacket and bundling it into a pillow he carefully raised the younger man's head and slipped it underneath. As he did so, Haldean stirred and, to Ashley's unspeakable relief, flickered his eyelids open.

‘My head hurts,' he whispered.

‘You're lucky you've still got one,' said Ashley, his voice oddly shaky. Haldean attempted to sit up. ‘For God's sake, man, stay still, will you? Whitfield's gone for a doctor.'

Haldean subsided back on to the jacket and shut his eyes. ‘Whitfield? I remember. Whitfield on the horse. He was dancing.'