Ann Granger (19 page)

‘But Brennan then went out into the garden,’ I remarked.

‘You will have to ask Williams about that,’ returned Miss Roche. ‘I have no idea what he did. I was brought downstairs by the sounds of a commotion in the garden below. I went out and found quite a crowd of people clustered about Brennan, who lay on the ground.’ There was an almost imperceptible pause before she went on, ‘One of them was Mr Andrew Beresford, a neighbour, and I ordered him from the property.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘He’s been told before his presence here is not welcome. There is no cause for you to know the reason.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘My niece, Mrs Craven, was there, understandably much distressed. Williams took her indoors. Miss Martin, the companion, followed them. I went inside to tell my sister what had happened. Callow – the gardener – dealt with the dog, Brennan’s terrier. It was a danger to anyone approaching the body. He had then to await Greenaway’s return to order him to harness up the trap and fetch Gosling. Dr Lefebre returned with Greenaway – they had been riding over the heath. He, the doctor, took a look at the body, I understand, and confirmed the man was dead. That’s all I can tell you.’

‘And the body of the rat-catcher?’ I asked.

Miss Roche raised her eyebrows. ‘Dr Lefebre ordered it should not be moved before Gosling saw it. Later it was moved to a mortuary somewhere. My only concern was that it left the premises. I had no interest in where it was taken.’

‘I meant, ma’am, that before the return of Greenaway with Gosling, the body seems to have been left unattended for some time,’ I suggested.

‘Should it not have been? Anyway, Callow came back with a net to snare the dog, so he was there for some minutes.’

The trickiest moment had come. ‘I must ask you to look at this, ladies. I’m sorry but it is necessary.’ I took the envelope containing the
kris
from my pocket and slid the knife out on to the palm of my hand.

Miss Roche eyed it with distaste. ‘That is the weapon?’

Miss Phoebe gave a little moan and turned her head aside.

‘I must ask you whether you recognise it, ma’am.’

‘I recognise the style of it.’

‘Miss Phoebe?’ I prompted gently.

She took her hand from her eyes, leaned forward and exclaimed, ‘Why, Christina, it’s our letter opener!’

‘It
looks
like our letter opener,’ corrected her sister.

‘I understand the letter opener is missing from the hall table,’ I said to Miss Roche.

‘So Williams has told me. However, that does not mean the one you have there is ours. Ours will be about the place somewhere.’

So much for my hope of surprising the ladies with the knife. Williams had been there before me to inform them of its loss and allow them time to prepare their response to my question. Whatever her motives, Williams appeared intent on frustrating us. Upper servants, in my experience, often present more of a problem than their employers. No one is more zealous in preserving the good name of a household than its butler – or housekeeper.

At that moment the door opened. ‘Ah,’ said Miss Roche, ‘here is Miss Martin, who has been engaged to be companion to my niece and with whom I believe you already have some acquaintance. If you have further questions perhaps you would direct them to her.’

Something in my face must have told her she’d taken a step too far in her arrogance. More graciously, she went on, ‘We wish to be of any help we can, naturally. I shall tell Lycurgus Greenaway that the stables are at your disposal. If you need a horse, just order one saddled for you. Or, if you prefer, Greenaway can drive you in the pony and trap anywhere you need to go.’

I stood up and thanked her. Now I could turn and there was Lizzie in the doorway. I had regained one of my points of reference, my most important.

Anxiously I scanned her features and saw that she was pale but composed.

‘Good morning, Inspector Ross,’ she said politely. ‘I hope you had a trouble-free journey?’

I had expected no less than to find her steadfast under fire; but I had hoped she might show some delight at the sight of me and so my own pleasure was spoiled by a twinge of disappointment.

‘Thank you, Miss Martin, yes,’ I returned with equal formality. ‘I wonder if I could ask you to show me in the garden exactly where you found—’

Miss Phoebe squeaked.

‘Yes, of course,’ Lizzie said quickly. ‘Please, Inspector Ross, follow me.’

I bowed to the Roche sisters, thanked them for their cooperation, and followed Lizzie out into the garden with what I hoped was a measured step.

Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth Martin

I HAVEN’T the words to describe to you the relief I felt when I saw Ben Ross with the Roche sisters; and the difficulty I had at concealing it before the two women. Any expression of joy would have been badly viewed by Miss Roche and prejudiced her against both Ben and me even more than was already the case. But now at last someone had come who would make sense of this horrible business, if any sense could be made of murder.

Conscious of Miss Roche’s eyes on me, I managed to greet Ben with suitable restraint. But as soon as we’d made our way into the garden and were out of sight of the drawing-room windows, I burst out,

‘Oh, Ben! I’m
so
glad you’re here. I was afraid they’d send someone else.’

He seized both my hands. ‘And I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you unharmed, Lizzie.’

If he’d only left it there, our reunion would have been perfect. But no, he had to go on, ‘I had a bad feeling about this whole business. I did tell you so, didn’t I, Lizzie? You will admit I was right?’

Now, no one likes to hear ‘I told you so’ from anyone. But particularly no lady likes to hear it from the gentleman with whom she is supposed to be walking out. Not that we were likely to be doing any walking out here, but I dare say you know what I mean.

‘I don’t believe you expected murder,’ I said, pulling my hands from his.

He reddened. ‘Now, Lizzie, don’t take offence. I’m sorry if I was – tactless. Please, I’ve not come all this way just for us to quarrel.’

‘Of course not!’ I said quickly. ‘I admit I did fancy there were some things I wasn’t being told, but I certainly didn’t expect anything as dreadful as murder, either.’ I cleared my throat and wondered how to go on, as he seemed to be waiting. ‘Are you and Sergeant Morris quite comfortable at The Acorn?’

‘Quite comfortable, thank you, although we are something of a circus show as far as the locals are concerned.’

An awkward silence followed. In it we eyed one another, both fearful of saying the wrong thing, so that we were unable to chat as easily as we’d have liked. I realised how much I’d missed Ben. But, of course, it had to be police work that had brought about our reunion. On the other hand, without Brennan’s death, Ben wouldn’t be here. It was as though we were always fated to meet over a corpse.

At last Ben said, ‘Well, perhaps you’d show me where you came upon Mrs Craven and the body? Tell me everything from that moment on, if you would.’

I almost replied, ‘Yes, officer!’ Instead I drew a deep breath and said, ‘All right. Let’s see.’

*   *   *

So what
had
happened? Some of it he would already have heard from Lefebre. How Lucy had been taken up to her room by Williams and hidden away from all of us. How Lefebre and I had a brief discussion (I didn’t mention this had taken place in my room and was pretty sure Lefebre wouldn’t have mentioned this detail either). We’d decided to advise the Roche women that Scotland Yard should be called in. I’d suggested the name of Ben himself.

‘Thank you,’ said Ben on hearing this.

‘Oh, but I wanted to make sure they didn’t send someone else,’ I explained.

His face lit up and he even smiled. ‘Really, Lizzie?’

‘Yes, of course. You’re the very best detective they have at Scotland Yard.’

His face fell. ‘Oh, is that the only reason? I was hoping … Well, I’m grateful for your vote of confidence. But Dunn may not agree with it if I go home having failed to solve this particular crime.’

‘You’ll solve it!’ I declared stoutly, ‘and if I can help, I will. And, and I am so very happy to see you here, Ben, in any case. You know that.’

This time Ben didn’t answer, only looked at me, so I took breath and continued with my account.

Constable Gosling had arrived. I’d taken him, as I was now leading Ben, to the place in the garden where I’d come upon Lucy and the dead man. Lefebre had been successful in preventing the body’s removal. The wretched Brennan lay where he’d been abandoned in grotesque fashion among the rhododendrons. At least someone had had the decency to cover him with a horse blanket. Personally, like Miss Roche, I’d have preferred the corpse to be taken away somewhere. Unlike her, I understood why it had to be left. I’d tried in vain not to look, indicating it to Gosling with my head averted, but it was no good. It drew my gaze with horrid fascination. The sight was pitiful as well as shocking. I told myself that what lay beneath the blanket was not a dead man but only some garden rubbish. But Brennan’s boots protruded, toes pointing skywards, so I couldn’t ease my mind with this hopeless pretence. The dog had been taken away.

I’d explained briefly to the constable how Lucy had run away from me. To be honest, I told Gosling, as I told Ben now, that Lucy and I had ‘parted company’. (I couldn’t control what Lefebre, who’d witnessed Lucy’s flight, might have told Gosling or, indeed, Ben, but he’d get only the bare facts from me.) Seeking her, I’d first searched on the shore and then in the garden where I’d come upon the scene. I’d pointed out to Gosling the direction of my footsteps.

‘Thank you, miss,’ Gosling had replied. ‘You can go back to the house now. I won’t need to talk to you again. Not a nice business this for you, you being a delicate female.’

Usually I’d have retorted I was perfectly robust in mind and body. But I had to admit to myself I was feeling somewhat queasy. ‘Thank you, Constable,’ I’d said.

Gosling’s somewhat pop-eyed gaze contemplated the blanketed heap on the grass and then turned to the rat’s nest containing the now motionless rat babies.

‘Very nasty,’ he observed.

Dr Lefebre reappeared at that moment and fell into conversation with the constable. That released me and I quit the scene as fast as my legs would carry me. I’d felt duty bound to stop by the drawing room and ask if I could do anything for the sisters.

My solicitude had been brushed aside.

The following details of the conversion with the sisters I omitted to recount to Ben.

Miss Roche had fixed me with a cold eye. ‘How well are you acquainted with this police inspector at Scotland Yard?’

‘Quite well, ma’am, Inspector Ross is—’

I wasn’t allowed to finish.

‘It sounds to me,’ said Miss Roche, ‘a very unsuitable acquaintance for a young woman of respectable background. You and Dr Lefebre between you have persuaded me to allow this Inspector Ross to be sent for. But it is largely on your recommendation, Miss Martin, and I trust you’ve not misled us as to his abilities.’

I’d nearly burst out, ‘Thank God Ben is coming!’ but managed to stop myself just in time and substituted, ‘I do assure you, Miss Roche, you can have every confidence in the inspector’s talent and dedication.’

Her eyebrow twitched. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘We shall see.’

With that and a nod I’d been dismissed. I wasn’t sorry to leave them to whatever discussion they wanted to have together. I’d not come to Shore House to minister to them. They had not engaged my services, their brother had, and I realised very well they resented my presence. But a huge weight had been lifted from my mind by the news that Lefebre would ask for Ben to be sent down here.

Not all concern, however. My chief worry was Lucy, whose companion I was meant to be. The laudanum given her by Williams meant that I didn’t see her for all the rest of that day. I kept away from the sisters except at lunch, a dismal affair of cold mutton pie and boiled potatoes. The kitchen must be in some disarray. Gosling had probably been there quizzing the cook and maids. Dinner had been little better, with a pudding of lumpy semolina and stewed prunes. I was glad to retire early.

I took up my narrative to Ben again at this point. I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’d tossed restlessly for some time, the vision of what I’d seen in the garden dancing before my eyes. At last I got up, threw a shawl round my shoulders and went to sit by the open window hoping the night breeze and soothing lapping of the water would help.

The garden had been in darkness. I couldn’t help but recall seeing two mysterious forms out there the night of my arrival, and hearing their whispered conversation.

‘You didn’t write to me about this,’ Ben interrupted at this point.

‘I’d already finished my letter and sealed it up. Anyway, I didn’t then know it was important. Perhaps it wasn’t – isn’t,’ I defended myself.

Ben heaved a sigh. ‘Go on.’

A little tetchily I continued, describing how I’d pushed the casement open wider and leaned out. The distinct odour of the sea filled my nostrils. The tide was coming in again and very fast. The moon glittered on the rolling waves. An owl swooped by, on his way to hunt, quite making me jump.

(Ben started to look a little restless at this point and I realised this counted as description of the scenery.)

I’d been about to pull in my head when I glimpsed, far away to my left on the shore, a flickering light. It wasn’t a lantern; that would have been a steady pinpoint. It was an erratic, dancing glow that waxed and waned, rose up into the air and then fell back again. Above the smell of the incoming sea, I identified something else. Smoke. There was a fire down there on the beach. My sight of it was briefly cut off as something dark passed before it. Then it returned, passing between the fire and me again. Someone was down there and moved round the blaze. If it was a vagrant who’d pitched his camp, he’d find it and his fire washed away by the incoming tide. Perhaps he was a stranger to this shoreline.

I went back to my bed with new thoughts running round my brain. The open heath and adjoining countryside, which had appeared so empty when we travelled across it in the trap, was in reality sprinkled with an unseen nomadic population, day and night. There were those too poor to afford any transport or the price of a bed at an inn, and forced to walk to their destinations, taking days over the journey and sleeping beneath the stars. Others, like Brennan, made their way from spot to spot offering their own peculiar skills. There were labourers without employment seeking a new place or at least a day’s work, wandering musicians, pedlars, tramps and gypsies. Brennan and his wife had made camp on the heath. Another traveller had made his camp on the shore. Could Miss Roche be right? Had one of these made his way into the garden perhaps intending to beg at the kitchen door, and encountered Brennan? Had there been a dispute and  …