Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman (18 page)

Oscar rarely presumed to take up one's time with his opinions. This unsolicited critique of a writer he obviously admired struck Clementine as both earnest and sincere.

“Then I will read it,” she said, quite enchanted by his description and by what he had revealed of himself. She wondered how a young man as sensitive and thoughtful as Oscar could have been close friends with someone like Teddy, who rarely connected with anyone on a simple, straightforward level unless it was to make things work to his advantage.

There was a natural pause at this point, and since they could not be overheard, Clementine decided to ask him about his trip to Oxford. She was so unaffectedly forthright that Oscar did not appear to feel threatened by her questions.

“Actually, Teddy kept some papers in my strongbox. I am not too sure what they were. Most of them were diagrams, or drawings, and I barely glanced at them. They looked rather like rough architectural drawings, not to scale, more in sketch form. They had symbols in some of the rectangles and squares: ticks, arrows, and numbers. It was all rather meaningless to me. But the colonel was pleased with them; he put them in his document case along with a bundle of old invitation cards Teddy had locked away in his desk. That was it really.”

“Did he say what he planned to do with them?”

“Not really. He told me he was off to London, would spent the night with his sister, and come back here tomorrow. I understood that he had an appointment with the Metropolitan Police and he was eager to get up to town.”

Oscar paused in the lackluster recounting of his day, but Clementine sensed that he had kept something back about his time with Valentine. “You told me you had no alibi; is that a problem?”

“I hope not, I really do. Colonel Valentine told me I was free to come back to Iyntwood, but that he was going on up to London to Scotland Yard. I have to wait for him here for when he returns tomorrow.”

“Well, that sounds like a remarkably good outcome to your day. If he suspected you, wouldn't he have taken you with him on to Scotland Yard?” She kept her tone bright, hopeful.

“I suppose so…” His voice tailed off and sorrow threatened to return.

Clementine did her best; she carefully turned the topic to other books they had read, in an effort to take him out of himself a little. He seemed so bereft and solitary and she felt tremendous sympathy for his plight. She wondered if his lonely childhood and his distant, disinterested father still weighed heavily on the boy. She also wondered what significance Teddy's papers had held for Colonel Valentine.

*   *   *

When Mrs. Jackson was summoned to Lady Montfort's sitting room for their evening meeting she was curious as to the form the conversation would take. She was prepared with menus for the next few days, as she knew that this was how their talk would begin, and she was right. After she had updated Lady Montfort on the state of the storeroom and larders and which bedroom Lady Verity de Lamballe would occupy when she arrived, Lady Montfort opened up her little notebook and asked her housekeeper to take a seat.

“It is so late, Jackson, you must be exhausted.”

It was half past eleven and Mrs. Jackson had been up since six o'clock. She was yearning with an almost frantic need for the quiet of her quarters, the opportunity to stretch out full-length on her bed, and listen to the only sound in the room, that of her own even, unhurried breath.

“Please make yourself comfortable so we can get to the business of what is happening in the house.”

In inviting her housekeeper to sit down in her presence, Lady Montfort had made a mere hop, skip, and a jump of breaching the abyss that separated her upstairs world from Mrs. Jackson's downstairs existence. Mrs. Jackson had never sat in Lady Montfort's presence before, and it did not come naturally to do so now. In fact, it made her feel extremely tense and self-conscious. However, she perched on the very edge of the chair, gazed down at her hands folded in her lap, and waited for Lady Montfort to begin. And there was no doubt that Lady Montfort understood her unease, because she decided to go first with sharing information, which came to Mrs. Jackson's ear rather like an announcement.

“Colonel Valentine went up to London to consult with Scotland Yard this afternoon after he left Oxford. According to Oscar Barclay, he had in his possession some of Teddy's papers that provide a new possibility in this business, and that have nothing to do with gambling clubs…” Lady Montfort proceeded to fill her in on the drawings that Oscar had described.

“Interesting, don't you think?”

Mrs. Jackson said, “Yes, m'lady, it was,” because it was, and waited.

“I think these drawings and the colonel's meeting at Scotland Yard are a clue. At the moment I am taking it to mean that there is another party involved in Teddy's murder and one that is being taken seriously by the police.” And then, by the way of nothing at all, only in that it had obviously come into her head, she added, “It was interesting today, Jackson, I noticed that whenever any of my friends came out of their interview with Colonel Valentine, that they appeared to be more relaxed than when they went in. I am not sure what to make of that.” Lady Montfort spent a moment or two thinking on this further, then turned to her housekeeper, her eyebrows raised and a gentle inquiring look of interest on her lovely face.

Mrs. Jackson appreciated that it was her turn and she tried to be as businesslike as Lady Montfort.

“As you suggested, there was a stranger in the village, m'lady; he was seen both by Mr. Stafford and Theo Cartwright. I spoke directly with Mr. Stafford and he told me that a strange man was last seen at the back of the Goat, by Theo. And around that time Mr. Teddy pulled up to the public house in his motorcar and went inside and took a look around, as if he expected to see someone he knew. Then afterwards Mr. Golightly went out to the pub yard at the back of the house and Mr. Teddy pulled his car in and waited there for a moment or two before driving off. Perhaps he was there to meet with the stranger.”

“There you are, Jackson, it's obvious Teddy had some arrangement with this man, this stranger. Any other information on him?”

“Mr. Stafford said that he saw the stranger in Dodder Lane, walking from Cryer's Breach station at about half past three that afternoon. I looked up train times from London in the Bradshaw. Where the man was at that time would mean he had come in on the half past one express from Marylebone—there isn't a train in at that time from the Birmingham direction—and had then walked up from the station. The express doesn't make any stops so he would have come from London.”

“Now that's what I call detective work, Jackson. Well done. Did Stafford say anything else?” Lady Montfort was scribbling away and then sat biting the tip of her pencil as she waited for more clues.

“Yes, he did. When Sergeant Hawkins inspected the dray he found a gentleman's evening shoe in the large storage box behind the driver's seat. It is commonly thought that Mr. Teddy had been tied up and put in the box. Apparently when his body was found in the wood it was missing a shoe. This might mean that the dray was used to take him up to the wood.” This was another hugely long speech for Mrs. Jackson and she stopped here to see its effect on her ladyship. She was gratified to see that Lady Montfort looked impressed. She was nodding and writing and then she looked up and smiled at her housekeeper as she made a heavy, full stop at the end of what she had scribbled down.

Mrs. Jackson judged it was time to report on further Goat and Fiddle gossip and reluctantly told the part about Mr. Teddy's having been given a punch on the nose. Of course Lady Montfort didn't like this at all; she stared at her housekeeper blankly with her mouth open, rather like a landed cod fish, and said, “Oh, God,” under her breath. And Mrs. Jackson, repentant at having caused pain, went on to explain that perhaps Lord Haversham was not the only one with a grudge against Mr. Teddy, and told her about Dick's swollen knuckles on his right hand.

“Yes, you're right, Jackson—if the police find out about their fight, a punch on the nose wouldn't necessarily implicate Harry, would it?” Lady Montfort seized on the opportunity to see this new information from all sides. “It could have been Dick I suppose, but highly unlikely as Dick is such a nice boy, and Teddy was not. Anyway, Dick was busy all evening, he didn't have time to give Teddy a punch, let alone take him off to the wood. Where was the dray during the ball, Jackson?”

“It was outside the north anteroom, in the service area for the ballroom, m'lady, same as always. Mrs. Thwaite had it stocked with food and ale for the musicians for when they took their breaks from playing.”

“So Teddy might have been taken from the ball to the wood in the dray?”

“I suppose he might…” Mrs. Jackson was careful not to put forward any premise of her own that might lead them up the garden path. She was determined to report facts only and would not be drawn into giving an opinion. That is, until she was specifically asked.

“But how would that work, do you think?”

Oh, Lord, and here it is,
she thought, and reluctantly continued.

“The dray was in the service area throughout the ball, m'lady. At the end of the night the musicians were driven to the stable block in the dray, where they spent the night, and the dray was left in the wash-down until early Sunday morning, when it was driven back to the home farm. Then, of course, after luncheon when Mr. Teddy was found, it was driven up to the wood to bring his body back. It was then locked up in the old carriage house. I think…” She hesitated to say what she thought, but Lady Montfort eagerly nodded for her to continue. “Maybe Mr. Teddy was met by whoever it was who killed him by the stable block; he overpowered him, tied him up, and took him up to Crow Wood.”

“Why would the murderer have to put Mr. Teddy into the storage box do you think?” Lady Montfort asked.

“Because it was raining heavily—because of the storm?” Mrs. Jackson shook her head as she spoke. “No, he was going to hang him. If he'd punched him on the nose, and tied him up, why put him in the storage box? Not to keep him dry!” she added rather callously, since it was Lord Montfort's murdered nephew she was referring to.

Lady Montfort laughed. “Exactly, Jackson, not to keep him dry. I think he was put in that box to conceal him. He was tied up and put in the box as there might have been people around. But who would have seen him at the stable block at well after four in the morning? Everyone would have been tucked up for the night.”

“Mr. Makepeace was there when the sergeant examined the dray. He said there was plenty of coiled rope under the seats. It was probably used to tie him up with.”

“So this murderer knew where to find rope, knew there was a storage space in the dray. Would a stranger to the area know all of this?” Lady Montfort was busily jotting things down in her little book; she did some heavy underlining and then looked up. Mrs. Jackson saw the strain on her face and comprehended that Teddy's murder by the stranger was the ideal outcome, but her ladyship was not going to be lulled into a false sense of security.

She thought for a while and then pointed out, “But anyone would be able to see the storage box, it's large enough, and there is always plenty of rope visible in the dray.” She closed her eyes as she tried to imagine how it would be. “It was dark. The rain was pouring down … he met Mr. Teddy by the stable block … he knocked him out, tied him up, and dragged him up onto the dray … perhaps he heard someone coming … he put him in the storage box and when it was all quiet, he drove up the lane to the home farm … but yes, you're right,” she said as inspiration flashed. “How would anyone unfamiliar with the area know where the gibbet was, and if they did, how could they find it in the dark? I am not sure that anyone unfamiliar with the estate could find it in the daylight, let alone in the middle of a storm.”

“That's absolutely right, Jackson. It would have to be someone familiar with the estate, someone who has been here many times—”

“Someone who had been at one of his lordship's shooting parties, m'lady. That could mean any of the estate workers or your friends who have come over for one of his lordship's shoots.” In her enthusiasm Mrs. Jackson had interrupted Lady Montfort and was horrified at her disrespectful manners.

But Lady Montfort hadn't even noticed. She was running out of steam and her voice was suddenly tired. Mrs. Jackson could tell she was circling back to home, returning to the idea that her son might be in danger as a suspect.

“Yes, friends or family … you see we are back to where we started, Jackson. No matter what Teddy was up to with strangers from London, it is unlikely that he was taken to his death by someone who did not know the estate. Unless Teddy arranged to meet the stranger by the gibbet … No, then the dray would not have been used, and it seems that was how he was taken to the wood.

“And that is why when Colonel Valentine comes back tomorrow his investigation here will not be over. That is, unless he plans to arrest one of us for Teddy's murder.” Lady Montfort sat back in her chair with her eyes fixed on her housekeeper. She had hoped that the stranger was going to save them, and with determination she summoned her concentration again.

Mrs. Jackson had never seen her ladyship so single-minded and intent, and it came to her in that moment that in less than fifteen minutes they had spanned the dark hours of Sunday morning clearly enough for them to make sense of what might have happened. She sat back in her chair, quite confident that between them they could make sense of this puzzle.

“Then we have to be a step ahead of him, m'lady,” she said.

“Yes, Jackson, we do. So, it's back to punches on the nose, motives, missing alibis, and how Teddy was put into the dray. And whilst we are at it, what has happened to the two missing young women?”