Death is a Word (16 page)

Then there was Daniel’s death. Donald Webster must, of course, have known of the existence of Daniel, but he may not have known much about his lifestyle. Eva may have given him the impression that Daniel was wholly tied up with his life and work in London; he wouldn’t have considered the possibility of his actually living in the cottage. When he did so and with the papers still there, he too was a threat. Certainly I could make out a case of sorts against Donald Webster but was I just getting carried away with what was, after all, a pretty unlikely idea? Then I remembered that on the day I was given the wrong prescription I’d run into him on my way out of the chemist and told him what had happened. And then, I also remembered, that when I’d launched into a description of what had happened, he’d changed the subject quite abruptly.

Unlikely as it might seem, it
was
possible that he had killed both Eva and Daniel. Certainly I could think of no one else with any sort of motive for doing so. And Rosemary and I had sent him away, nobody knew where, so, if he was the killer there was probably no way of finding him.

I didn’t tell Rosemary or Patrick about my theory. Whether it was right or wrong it would upset them, and if I told Bob Morris he would give me one of his quizzical looks and say that it was an interesting idea. I got on with my life, only occasionally taking the theory out and thinking about it, but coming to no conclusion. Finally I decided that, even if it was true, there was nothing anyone could do about it now.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at Brunswick Lodge had simmered down enough for us to have a reasonably peaceful discussion about the forthcoming bring-and-buy sale. Anthea had won the battle, of course, by her usual method of simply tanking over the opposition and taking it for granted that everything had been settled to her satisfaction.

‘So, Sheila, what can we expect from you?’ she asked me briskly, pen poised over the notebook she had taken to using on such occasions, obviously feeling that if the promises had been actually written down there was less likelihood of backsliding.

‘Oh,’ I said firmly, ‘I can’t manage to bring anything this time, but I’ll come and buy, of course.’

Naturally I wasn’t getting away with that. Anthea questioned me closely, but for once I stayed firm. ‘Well, if you can’t,’ she said grudgingly, ‘I suppose we must manage as best we can.’ She turned to Alison Shelby who’d just come in. ‘Now then, what shall I put you down for?’

‘Oh dear, I really don’t know if I can manage anything this time. Maurice has to be away for a few days and there’s always such a lot to do when he’s not here to help.’

Having been baulked of one victim, Anthea was not going to allow another to escape. She assumed the wheedling tone that sometimes produced results. ‘I’m sure you could whip up a batch of those splendid scones, or one of your sponges, they always go well.’

Flattered by this attention, Alison hesitated for a fatal moment. ‘Well, I suppose I could just make a sponge and I suppose the scones – though those ought to be made on the day unless I make them earlier and freeze them …’

I slipped away while Anthea was occupied and took refuge in the Buttery, where I was joined by Rosemary who was looking harassed.

‘I’m absolutely exhausted,’ she said, putting down her tray with some violence. ‘I’ve been trying to find some Gentleman’s Relish for Mother. Apparently Patrick has never heard of it and Mother’s determined that he shall try some. Of course, none of the supermarkets have any, nor the farm shop, nor the deli. It looks as if I’ll have to go to Taunton for it.’

‘I suppose you could make some,’ I suggested, ‘with anchovies and butter.’

‘No use, it has to be in one of those special jars with Patum Peperium on the label. Nothing else will do.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Of course I’m delighted that she’s taken to Patrick, it’s helped so much since Daniel died. But I’m really nervous – suppose he suddenly takes it into his head to go off somewhere.’

‘I think he’s pretty well settled, at least for the moment,’ I said consolingly.

‘So he says, but you never know with the young, and, as we’ve always said, we really know nothing about him.’

‘I’m sure it will be all right.’

‘Oh well,’ Rosemary said resignedly, ‘I suppose
I’d better enjoy it while it lasts, even if it does mean combing Taunton for a jar of Gentleman’s Relish.’

Patrick came to coffee a few mornings later. To my surprise he’d taken to accepting my invitations – just coming for coffee to keep it casual, though I was hoping to work up to tea or even supper. This time he’d brought with him some of the genealogical stuff he’d got off the Internet.

‘I think I’m getting the hang of it,’ he said, ‘making some progress, and working backwards. I’m concentrating on Eva’s family – that’s the one Mrs Dudley’s interested in, of course – I’ve got as far as her parents. It’s tricky getting the Australian stuff, but, as he died in England I got enough from the death certificate to help me. He was a Benson and her maiden name was Castel, which is unusual and should help.’

‘Yes, I remember Eva mentioning it – I think she said that family came from the other side of the county.’

‘You don’t remember where, do you? It would help with the census things.’

‘She said nearly in Dorset, but that’s not a lot of use, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh well, I’ll try all the possible larger towns and see if I can come up with something. This is what
I’ve got so far.’ He took a lot of papers from a folder and I stared at them dutifully but, really, couldn’t make much sense of any of it, finding the printouts of the various census returns extremely difficult to read. However, I made encouraging noises and he gathered them up, promising to let me know how he’d got on.

‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I’d like to get a bit more done – I’ve been invited to tea with Mrs Dudley this afternoon. I had hoped to carry on with this but she seemed particularly anxious for me to go today.’

‘Ah, yes. Do you like anchovies?’ I asked.

He looked at me enquiringly. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ I said.

Reluctantly I decided that I was due to put the anti-flea stuff on Tris and Foss. It’s something you really need two people for – one to hold the animal still and one to open the awkward little phial and actually apply it. Cautiously I tempted Tris into the kitchen and shut the door, knowing that if Foss knew what I was doing he would disappear. Fortunately Tris is mostly cooperative and I held him steady with one hand and tried to part the long fur on his neck so that I could put the lotion on the actual skin but, as usual, most of it went onto the fur. Hoping that would
be enough I let him go and went in search of Foss. He was in the sitting room on the sofa and I thought I’d got him cornered, but, just at that moment, Tris came in shaking himself so that it was very obvious to an intelligent Siamese what was going on. Foss was off the sofa and up the stairs before I realised what was happening, and I knew that he would already be making himself inaccessible under the spare room bed. I was just deciding whether it was worthwhile making an attempt to fetch him when the phone rang. It was Bob Morris.

‘I thought you’d like to know that I think we’ve found the place the Defender came from. It’s in Bristol and I’m going to check it out myself in case I can get a description of the person who hired it.’

‘That’s fantastic!’ I exclaimed. ‘And the dates fit?’

‘Yes. It looks promising. I’ll go down there tomorrow and let you know what I find out.’

‘Can I tell Patrick?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t – if it turns out not to be anything to do with the case, then there are privacy considerations.’

‘Of course. I quite understand. Well – good luck!’

I put the phone down and wandered around the house in a state of excitement. It seemed almost too good to be true. Bob had done a splendid job and it looked as though we were at least one step nearer
finding out who had killed Daniel. Foss, erroneously thinking it was safe to reappear, strolled downstairs. Still buoyant from the excitement of the telephone call, I scooped him up, put him on the worktop in the kitchen and put the flea stuff on him all in one moment of triumph.

I’d promised Thea that I’d collect Alice’s new school blazer from the shop in Taunton, and I thought I’d better get it done while I actually had a free day. It was a tiresome drive – the inadequate road from Taviscombe to Taunton was cluttered up with heavy lorries and, since there are virtually no passing places, there were endless queues, and the rain made it all the more frustrating. When I finally got there I had to wait, anxiously and illegally parked on a yellow line, while they sorted through the newly arrived stock to find what I wanted. By then it was past lunchtime so I went, as I usually do, to find something to eat in the tea shop in the precinct. I’d just relaxed with coffee and a toasted sandwich when, to my horror, I saw Alison Shelby surveying the tables. I hastily turned my head away, but I was too late.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she said, putting her tray down and sitting down comfortably opposite to me. ‘What a nice surprise.’

I gave her a wintry smile. ‘I like to come here when I’m in Taunton,’ I said. ‘It’s usually nice and peaceful.’

‘Yes, isn’t it!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Maurice comes here sometimes – it’s quite near his office – and he always speaks so well of it. So what are you doing so far from home?’

Swallowing my irritation at this form of address, I explained the purpose of my errand, which, alas, set her off on the wicked expense of school uniforms and how many ‘extras’ private schools expected the parents to buy. I tried to let the flow of language wash over me.

‘Unfortunately the girls went to different schools, boarding schools of course – there’s nothing suitable round here. Lydia was always the brainy one so she needed somewhere academic, while Charlotte was a very
practical
girl, so we found a very nice place in Switzerland, more of a finishing school, really. Of course, it cost the earth, but you do like to do the best you can for your children, don’t you?’

I agreed that you did.

‘But unfortunately it doesn’t stop there, not with girls.’ She poured herself another cup of tea. ‘They both married well, I’m glad to say – such a relief when you see the sort of young person some parents are faced with. Both professional men and both doing
very well. But weddings are
so
expensive – at least, if they’re done properly. I said to Maurice that we owed it to the girls to put on a good show, especially since their husbands’ families were – well, you know, of a certain class.’

I made some sort of non-committal noise and she ate a forkful of her gateau and, thus refreshed, started off on a new tack.

‘I’m sure I’m not one to complain,’ she said, ‘but I do think Anthea was a little
demanding
about the bring-and-buy sale. I’m quite willing to do my bit, but I did explain that Maurice was going to be away just then – he sometimes has to go away, visiting clients and so forth – and there’s always a lot extra to do when you’re on your own. I’m sure you must find that, situated as you are – and, out in the country, it’s especially difficult.’

‘Yes,’ I said gathering my things together, ‘Anthea can be a little overpowering at times. But I really must be going. I have to collect Alice from school.’

‘What it is to be a grandmother! Alas, we have no grandchildren as yet; the young seem to lead such busy lives,’ she said wistfully, ‘but I suppose there’s plenty of time yet.’

A few days later Patrick came to coffee again.

‘How was the Gentleman’s Relish?’ I asked.

‘Oh, was that what you meant when you were asking about anchovies? I loved it.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’

He looked a little puzzled but took some papers out of a folder and spread them out on the table. ‘I’ve managed to track down quite a bit of the family and made a sort of family tree. Here we are.’ He spread out a large sheet of paper and began to read. ‘Now this is Eva’s great grandfather, William Benson, and he married Sarah Eliot (I think that’s where the connection with Rosemary’s branch of the family comes in, but I haven’t traced that yet) and they had two children, James and Martha. This is where it became a bit tricky because James left England and went to Australia – I worked this out by going backwards from Richard. Anyway, he married an Ellen Montgomery and their son was Richard, who came to England and married Lydia Castel and they, of course, were Eva’s parents.’

‘So Eva had some other relations in England that she didn’t know about?’

‘Yes, Martha married a John Shelby and they had a son Arthur who married someone called Charlotte Townsend and they had a son …’

‘Called Maurice.’

Patrick looked up. ‘How did you know?’

I took up the paper. ‘Here, let me see. Yes, it must
be him, the dates are right.’ I laid the paper down again. ‘What on earth is going on?’

‘What do you mean?’

I tried to gather my thoughts. ‘Maurice Shelby,’ I said, ‘is a member of Brunswick Lodge. He knew Eva and, to my certain knowledge, talked to her about her family name, Benson, also her parents. She even mentioned Lydia Castel – an unusual name as everyone said at the time – and never admitted his connection with the family. In fact, he more or less denied knowing any of the names. And he obviously knew about the connection, even giving his daughters family Christian names.’

‘But why?’

‘That is the question. I think I’d like to get Bill Morris’s opinion on that.’

‘You think there’s some connection with Dan’s death?’

‘I don’t know, but I do feel that if we were to investigate all this further,’ I indicated the family tree, ‘we might just discover a motive.’

‘But he didn’t know Dan, did he? From what you say, he barely knew Eva, so how could he have known about Dan’s movements, how would he have known about the running? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I know.’ I tried to think, then suddenly it occurred to me. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Alison Shelby!
His wife. She’s a tremendous gossip, always at Brunswick Lodge listening to people’s conversation and of
course
she would have gathered all sorts of information, quite innocently, which she would have passed on to her husband. She’s the sort of person who never stops talking and, although, after all these years, Maurice Shelby must have managed to tune out all the chat, I bet he pricked up his ears whenever she mentioned Eva or Daniel. In fact, he probably encouraged her.’

‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Patrick said.

‘I’ve just remembered,’ I went on, ‘Alison Shelby was standing just behind me – she had some books for Brunswick Lodge – when I was talking to Rosemary about Daniel running early in the morning.’

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’

‘And another thing. I told Maurice Shelby that Daniel was tracing his family on the Internet. If there’s some sort of motive in this family tree … Oh dear, what have I done!’

‘You weren’t to know. But
can
it be true?’

‘I don’t know, but whatever all this genealogy is about, it’s the nearest thing we have to any sort of motive. What we need to know now is what Bob Morris has found out about the hire of the Land Rover in Bristol.’