A Question of Inheritance (9 page)

Mrs Morrison was shaking her head. ‘Mr Hetherington is the most careful man imaginable. He left that crossbow here because he didn’t have room in his car to take all the weapons that he brought in one journey. He’s coming back for it later. I can’t think why he would have left it loaded with a bolt.’

Gus frowned. ‘It sounds an exceptionally careless thing for anybody to do.’

Polly said, ‘But why did it go off now? If it had been left like that since yesterday, what made it fire the bolt? Crossbows don’t fire themselves.’

Hugo said, ‘The safety catch wasn’t on. We heard a door up there slam; I think it must have jolted the crossbow.’

Mrs Morrison said, ‘Oh, that dratted door. It has a loose catch and is always slamming shut.’

Polly was looking relieved at this explanation. ‘You mean it wasn’t aimed at Pops?’

‘It was an accident,’ Freya said, ‘and luckily no one was hurt. Mrs Morrison, I think you should have a word with Mr Hetherington.’

Polly said, ‘That’s a second near miss.’

Hugo swung round. ‘Second near miss?’ He was just about to say, ‘Oh, you mean the car on the pavement in Oxford’, but Polly went on.

‘On the boat coming over somebody slid into Pops and he nearly went over the side. He didn’t, though.’

Gus smiled down at her. ‘That’s the kind of thing that could happen to anyone. I wasn’t in any real danger. A sailor was there to haul me back.’

He thanked Mrs Morrison with grave courtesy. She was composed but had a look of concern in her eyes. He reassured her. ‘No harm done, except you might have to get the suit of armour repaired. I don’t suppose it’s the first dent it’s had in its career.’ He turned to Polly, and hooked her arm in his. ‘You wanted to go back to the bookshop? Let’s do that right now.’

Hugo and Freya stood outside the museum as father and daughter headed back to Snake Alley. Freya said, ‘Out with it. What happened, do you think?’

Hugo told her about the window. ‘Someone was up there and fired the bolt.’

‘No slamming door? I didn’t think so.’

‘Nor did Gus, but Polly didn’t need to know that.’

‘Was it intended to hit Gus?’

‘Oh, I think so. And it isn’t the first attempt on his life.’

‘The liner?’

‘I hadn’t heard about that. But it seems that someone had a go at him in Oxford.’ He told her what had happened. ‘Leo told me about it.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I was going to.’

‘Now I’m thoroughly alarmed. What else are you keeping from me?’

‘Freya, do you know what the exact terms of your uncle’s will were? Not all the bequests, but the Castle and land and the money. What happens if Gus meets with a fatal accident? Would everything go to Babs and Polly?’

Freya said, ‘Yes, and no. Selchester had set up a trust. The male heir – which everybody of course thought was Tom – had to survive for a year. If not, then the estate reverted to Sonia. That’s why there was no question at first about it all going to Sonia, since Tom was dead and no one knew about Gus. Anyhow, it’s irrelevant, since Selchester died years ago.’

Hugo said, ‘I don’t think it is irrelevant. Even though Selchester died in 1947, the death certificate wasn’t issued until his body was found last September. I’m no lawyer, but I suspect that trust will run for a year from then, not from 1947. So it would still be valid.’

‘You’re not suggesting Sonia’s trying to kill Selchester? That’s ridiculous. She isn’t here, she wasn’t on the liner, and I doubt if she was in Oxford. She can’t have had anything to do with any of that. Unless you think she’s been employing hired assassins. Those near accidents that have happened to Gus are just coincidences.’

She fell silent, remembering the night her uncle had died and the tablets that Sonia had asked her to retrieve from Lord Selchester’s bedside table. What had been in them? What had Sonia been up to?

Was her cousin capable of murder?

Chapter Six

Scene 1

Oliver Seynton, squashed into the back of Rupert Dauntsey’s MG, was cold, uncomfortable and alarmed by Rupert’s driving.

Why hadn’t he resisted Sonia’s invitation for him to go with her to the Castle. The closer they got to Selchester the more he felt it was a mistake to arrive just before Christmas. He wasn’t staying for Christmas Day, thank goodness; the mere thought of a family Christmas at Selchester Castle filled him with horror. Even so, the new Earl had only just arrived from America and surely, whatever Sonia said, it wouldn’t be the best time to talk to him.

He’d seen Sonia at a cocktail party a few days ago, and when he expressed doubts about descending on the new Lord Selchester, she brushed them aside.

‘He needs to look at everything on the inventory,’ Sonia had said. ‘He’ll want advice on what he can best sell to meet the death duties. Isn’t that what you people do? What will bring in the most money without breaking up a collection? And you have to get in there before he goes to some other auction house for advice; your superiors aren’t going to be too happy if he calls in Christie’s or Sotheby’s.’

True. ‘Why now? Why the urgency?’

‘There are some pictures there that belong to me and I want you to look at them and arrange for them to be sold. I don’t want them swept up with the rest of his possessions.’

Oliver was confused. ‘Everything is in the inventories. In the one the trustees did when your father disappeared and again when I did the inventory for you in the autumn, for valuation.’

‘Not quite everything. There are some other paintings. I didn’t bother you with them at the time, but now things are different.’

‘Were these paintings listed separately in Lord Selchester’s will?’

‘Do pay attention. They aren’t listed anywhere.’

‘You’re telling me you had pictures stashed away that you didn’t tell me about and you didn’t show me?’

‘Yes. They’re mine. My father gave them to me and I stored them in the attics. I don’t have room for them in my flat in London.’

Oliver was sure Sonia was lying. ‘You’re planning to remove them for sale without saying anything about them to the new Earl?’

‘It’s none of his business.’

Now, on the way to the Castle, Oliver looked at Sonia in the rear-view mirror. She was wrapped in a mink coat and an enormous fur hat meant that little of her face was visible besides her intensely blue eyes.

Watchful Selchester eyes.

Just like her father’s. Oliver had only met the late Lord Selchester once, and it had been a meeting he couldn’t recall without a shudder. The cold implacability of the man’s voice as he laid out in chilling detail what he knew about what Oliver had done in the war.

‘I want you to pass on any useful information from the art world. Oh, not sensational sales or undiscovered masterpieces, nothing like that. No, I want to know the kind of things that people want kept hidden. Secrets. Criminal behaviour, even. Shady dealing. Names, dates, essential details. Write to me at Selchester Castle, not my London address or office.’

He didn’t doubt for a moment that Oliver would do whatever he wanted. What choice did he have? Then he’d been summoned to the Castle for the weekend, an invitation he couldn’t refuse – and was saved by a snowstorm and Selchester’s disappearance.

He’d never told Sonia of that encounter.

Sonia snuggled more closely into the seat. ‘Really, he’s so rich, I shouldn’t care what death duties he has to pay. But on the other hand, I have an intense hatred for all these dreadful tax people and the government that thinks it has a right to so much of our money. My father bought those paintings at a time when you could pick up things for a song, and now they’re worth a great deal more.’

Oliver’s conscience underwent a brief struggle. If they were good paintings, then his commission would be considerable. But did they really belong to Sonia? Or was she making a grab for them?

Sonia went on, ‘If they get included in the contents of the house, then that will simply add another great lump of money to the death duties he’s already got to pay. Much better if I remove them without bothering about any formalities. Father intended me to have them; that’s all that matters. And don’t pretend to sudden scruples, please, Oliver. You do private deals all the time.’

‘Perhaps the new Earl’s already found the paintings.’

‘No. I told you. They’re in one of the attics. And I have the only key.’ Sonia produced a big old-fashioned key and brandished it over her shoulder. ‘I feel sure my dear half-brother would do the same in my shoes. He’ll soon realise it’s his duty to hold on to as much of the property and money as he can. Besides, who knows? Something may happen to him before the nine months are up.’

What was she talking about? Was the new Earl trying to produce an heir? ‘What have nine months got to do with anything?’

Sonia said, ‘It’s my father’s will. If anything happens to Gus—’

‘Gus?’ Oliver said.

‘The new Earl. If anything happens to him within twelve months of my father’s death then, under a trust that was set up, everything comes to me.’

‘Your father died seven years ago,’ Oliver said.

‘Not legally. Legally, he died when the death certificate was signed, after they found him under the flagstones. Such a blessing Gus didn’t have a son, because while a son could inherit under the trust, daughters can’t. He could rush to the altar, of course, to try for an heir, but he’s been a widower for years. If he wanted to get married again, he’d have done it by now.’

There was satisfaction in her voice, which had taken on the creamy tone it always did with Sonia when she was talking about money.

Rupert, who seemed to be driving with one finger on the wheel, said, ‘Thinking of taking out a hit on him, are you?’

Sonia said, ‘No, of course not. I do draw the line somewhere. Although I wouldn’t be broken-hearted if he met with an untimely death. Nothing painful – merely a convenient accident to take him into the next world sooner rather than later. In fact, during the next few months.’

Rupert said, ‘I honour you for your scruples. What has caused this sudden and unexpected rush of morality to the head?’

Sonia said, sounding quite sharp, ‘I hardly know him. I’ve only met him once. So I don’t have animosity towards him as a person. I resent him because he’s deprived me of my inheritance. Which means that ghastly anachronism of a castle and everything stays in the family instead of it being turned into a hotel, which I longed for; how much my father would have loathed that. Despite that, Gus is family. He’s my half-brother. One doesn’t murder one’s kith and kin, Rupert, darling, however much one is tempted to.’

Rupert said, ‘Afraid of what you might have to say in the confessional?’

Sonia said, ‘I commit a lot of sins, but I’m not having that kind of sin on my conscience, thank you very much.’ She paused, and Oliver could see a faraway look in her eyes. ‘There was only one time I wanted to kill someone close to me. And there was a good reason for that. It would have been an act of justice. A man getting his just deserts.’

Rupert said, his voice languid, ‘Only you didn’t commit the awful deed?’

Sonia said, ‘I did not. Perhaps my guardian angel was looking after me. I was too ill to do it at the time when I might have done. But he died soon after and so I don’t have that on my conscience.’ She took out a compact and inspected her perfect complexion. ‘Of course, it’s different for you. You must have killed lots of people.’

Oliver was startled, and then he realised that Sonia was talking about Rupert’s time during the war.

‘Yes, quite a few. It was my duty. There you are, I’ve broken one of the Ten Commandments over and over. Good thing I’m not a churchgoer.’

Sonia said, ‘They’re not my commandments. Besides, although we say “Thou shalt not kill”, what it actually means is “Thou shalt not murder”. Killing your enemy in war doesn’t count as murder.’

Rupert said, ‘I suppose not. I can’t say I felt any remorse. It was a job and I did it.’

Sonia said, ‘Do you think killing people in the war means that you would find it easier to kill somebody in civilian life?’

Rupert said, ‘Murder?’ He fell silent and seemed to be considering the question seriously. ‘I suppose we’re all capable of committing murder, if driven to it by circumstances. I can see myself killing a man in a fight, perhaps, or in a temper.’

That surprised Oliver. He didn’t know Rupert, but he seemed to be the kind of man who was unlikely to lose his temper. He had that air of self-control and superiority peculiar to the English upper classes, which Oliver, despite having learned in the interests of business to get on with them, secretly detested.

Rupert went on, ‘I wouldn’t commit the kind of murder that’s in detective stories, laying a trap in some subtle way so that the police won’t find you. It might be interesting as an intellectual exercise, but I don’t think I’d care for it. It’s somehow rather unmanly, don’t you think?’

Sonia shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. Anyhow let’s hope the new Earl doesn’t have any unfortunate accidents over Christmas while I’m at the Castle. I intend to enjoy myself and make the most of the Selchester wine cellars while I still have access to them. I have to say that much for Selchester: he did buy good champagne.’

Oliver shifted in the back, wishing that he could stretch his legs and fearing that when the car actually stopped he would be unable to climb out of the back. He could see himself having to be hauled out in a most undignified manner. In addition to being curled up in the back, he had Sonia’s dressing case jammed in his stomach and Rupert’s briefcase squashed under one foot. The boot of the car was small and Sonia’s suitcase and Rupert’s bag had taken all the space. Oliver had simply brought a small overnight bag, and that was clasped under one elbow.

‘Do stop fidgeting, Oliver,’ Sonia said. ‘You’re getting on my nerves.’

Scene 2

Mrs Partridge was in the kitchen, deep in preparations for that night’s dinner. Georgia was helping; she had a large apron wrapped round her and was methodically working her way through a big pile of potatoes.

Mrs Partridge paused, and raised a wooden spoon as though commanding silence. ‘I can hear a car. That’ll be Lady Sonia with the two gentlemen.’

Georgia put her knife down and said, ‘I don’t like Lady Sonia.’

‘None of that in my kitchen,’ Mrs Partridge said severely. ‘It’s not for you to like or not like Lady Sonia. It’s by her goodwill that you’re here, don’t forget that.’

Georgia said, ‘It’s not her Castle anymore. I only have to be polite to Freya, and that’s no trouble because I like Freya. She doesn’t look at me like I’m a black beetle, which is what Lady Sonia does.’

Mrs Partridge said, ‘More like a spider with those long legs of yours. Put those potatoes down, wash your hands and go and answer the front door.’

Georgia got up from her chair. ‘She’ll come round the back, I expect.’

‘Lady Sonia’s not one for back doors.’

In this, Mrs Partridge was mistaken. Sonia had directed Rupert to take his car round to the stable yard. ‘It’s not like in the good old days with footmen rushing to help. It’ll be quicker to use the back entrance. I hope Ben’s around to take the luggage.’

Rupert drove the car into the stable yard and stopped with a flourishing squeal of brakes, nearly running into the back of Hugo’s Talbot Lago. He got out of the car and waved cheerfully at Hugo. ‘Nice car.’ He went round to open the door for Sonia.

Hugo said, ‘Yes, but not likely to be improved by a bump from your car.’

Rupert laughed. He came forward, extending a hand. ‘You must be Hawksworth. I’m Rupert Dauntsey. We met a while ago. Berlin, forty-five. You were something in the hush-hush line.’

Hugo remembered Rupert now. He hadn’t liked him then, and he wasn’t sure that he was a man he would trust now.

Sonia stood by the MG, hands on hips, while Oliver tried to extricate himself from the back of the car. Rupert went over and extended a long arm to relieve Oliver of some of the boxes and bags encumbering him. He gave him a yank and Oliver unfolded and almost stumbled out of the car.

‘Good God, I’ve lost the use of my limbs. Why don’t you have a decent car, Dauntsey, instead of this mousetrap?’

Rupert said cheerfully, ‘I never travel in the back, was it uncomfortable? Sorry, old chap.’

Georgia appeared, looking rebellious. ‘Hullo, Lady Sonia.’ She stared at Rupert and Oliver. ‘I suppose you’re Mr Dauntsey and Mr Seynton. I’ll show you to your rooms, because Mrs Partridge is busy in the kitchen. You’ll have to carry your own suitcases, as Ben isn’t around.’

‘Oliver, take my leather suitcase and don’t forget my dressing case.’ Sonia gave Georgia an indifferent look. ‘Georgina, isn’t it? I assume I’m in my usual room.’

‘Georgia, actually, and yes, you are. The other two are in the North Passage.’

‘Quite the little chatelaine,’ Sonia said. ‘Hullo, Hugo, are you still here? Tell me, is your priestly uncle with us over Christmas?’

‘Yes,’ Hugo said.

‘Oh, Lord, that’s all I need,’ Sonia said. ‘Come along, we can’t stand here freezing.’

Hugo came to the rescue of Oliver, who was grappling with his own suitcase and Sonia’s things. ‘Here, let me give you a hand with that.’

Sonia swept them in and through to the main staircase. As they went up the stairs, Babs was coming down from the second floor. She paused on the landing and looked down at the little group. Oliver looked up, saw her, and, his foot on the next step exclaimed, ‘Good heavens.’

Babs ignored him and said in a high clear voice that didn’t sound at all like her, ‘You must be Aunt Sonia.’ She came down the stairs to join them. ‘I’m Barbara.’

Sonia ran her eyes up and down Babs. ‘Good God, what on earth are you dressed like that for? Look how you startled Oliver.’ She waved a hand. ‘Rupert Dauntsey and Oliver Seynton.’

Hugo watched with interest as Babs, seeing that Oliver was about to say something, fixed him with a cold look, held out her hand and said, ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘Whatever happened to “How do you do?”’ murmured Sonia.