Destroying Angel (6 page)

I entered the local teashop at ten o’clock that morning with not the faintest notion what I was looking for, and regretting that it was too early after breakfast to sample those delicious cream cakes recommended by Wolf.

Taking a seat at a quiet table near the window where I could survey the scene of complete inactivity outside, I found I was not as alone as I had supposed. A group of women occupied one of the six tables. Evidently the teashop was the hub of female life in Staines.

However, as I tried to look interested in the book I was supposedly reading, I became aware that the shop was emptying of customers. Goodbyes were exchanged until only one middle-aged woman remained, reaching for her purse. Her resigned expression, I thought uncharitably, hinted that she had been left with the bill.

About to leave, she glanced over in my direction. I smiled and, accepting this as an invitation, she gave me good-day and stopped by my table.

‘I was up at the house yesterday and saw you with Mr Staines’ dog, the one he lost a few years back.’ I said nothing and overcome with curiosity, she added: ‘How did you come by it?’

I did some quick thinking. So she knew the deerhound; was
she simply a dog lover or perhaps some connection with the family?

‘I found him in Edinburgh.’

Her eyebrows raised. ‘Well, well. What a coincidence. A bit of luck that.’

‘So you know Roswal?’

She shrugged. ‘All dogs look alike to me, but my late husband was their doctor, treated the little girl. He thought a lot of her.’

This was my turn for a piece of luck. ‘I was sorry to hear of your loss,’ I said gravely.

She looked at me wide-eyed and laughed out loud. ‘Save your sympathy, lass. Fergus and I were separated. A right bastard, he was. Never a great marriage, ashamed of the fact he had married a servant and felt I wasn’t socially acceptable, as he called it. So whatever happened to him, I had another fellow by the time he was killed.

‘Got married since,’ she added with a happy smile, touching her wedding ring. ‘I’m Mrs Sloan, now.’ Her face clouded for a moment, the smile banished. ‘His accident was the kindest thing he ever did for me. Made it easier for us. Folk don’t look kindly on divorces hereabouts. And I still have the house – till they find a new doctor, if ever. Folk now have to call on the Alnwick ones.’

I wanted to know more about that accident, hear her side of it, so pretending ignorance, I said, ‘When you just said “whatever happened”, er, to your late husband, was there some doubt?’

‘They said he didn’t get off the level crossing in time. Train hit him. Peter – my man – saw it all. He works on the railway—’

And he was in love with the doctor’s wife. Well, well, I thought grimly, was there a murder enquiry that had been carefully swept under the carpet? Perhaps not seeing many strangers in these parts and my connection with Staines made her eager for a gossip. Certainly her frank manner suggested that she was either innocent or else a very good actress.

She had stopped speaking as a shadow loomed over us, a man in a railway guard’s uniform, smelling strongly of drink.

‘Hello, love.’

So this was Peter Sloan.

‘Thought I’d find you here, Grace,’ he said, supporting himself on a vacant chair. Did I detect a reproach although they smiled at each other?

His questioning glance indicated that I introduce myself. He grinned and Grace said, ‘Pete, Mrs McQuinn is staying with Staines. She brought his dog back from Edinburgh.’

The grin turned into a scowl, a look of dislike that indicated Hubert Staines was no friend of his. ‘Have you told her about the accident?’

Grace looked uncomfortable. ‘Well—’

He laughed and said to me. ‘She hasn’t told you that her brother-in-law Derek Sloan is in the police at Alnwick and that he was all for a proper investigation as he called it—’

Grace took his arm. ‘For heaven’s sake, Pete. Leave it be.’

Peter swayed a little as he laid both hands on the table. ‘That was no accident, Missus, mark my words. I can say that freely although it did us a good turn, the one thing we have to be grateful for to the Lord of the Manor.’

I shook my head. ‘Surely—?’

‘Aye, surely. Stands to reason, he should have got rid of that
level crossing when the pit closed. Death trap, it is. And how’s the wee lass doing?’

I didn’t know what to say, shook my head and took refuge in: ‘I feel very sorry for her, so young.’

Peter looked mockingly at me. ‘Feel sorry for her living with Staines – all alone, just the two of them in that big house,’ he added. There was something very unpleasant about the way his tone was loaded with meaning.

‘Miss Kate has a very good nurse looking after her.’

Ignoring that, he was looking hard at his wife. ‘Grace’s man was a good doctor, I give him that,’ he added reluctantly. ‘Aye, and he could have told you a thing or two about the two lasses – and what went on in that house—’

‘Pete!’ Grace’s hand was on his arm. ‘That’s enough.’

‘More than enough, some would say. A lassie under age.’

‘Pete, there was no proof.’ And to me. ‘Only rumour, villages are like that.’ She stood up and said firmly, ‘Look, we must go.’

Her husband was swaying unsteadily and she smiled at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, Mrs McQuinn, this fellow needs to get to his bed.’ And so saying she marched him towards the door.

I watched them go, disappointed and frustrated by the termination of what had promised to be a very interesting interview. At the door, Grace turned and came back.

‘I wouldn’t stay over-long in that house if I were you. Do take care.’

There was no mistaking the warning.

‘Grace!’ bawled Pete. ‘Where the devil are you?’

‘Look,’ she said, ‘come and see me, anytime. We’ll have a proper chat. You can’t mistake the house; it’s the last one back there on the main street. High wall and a garden.’ She gave an
uncertain smile, ‘Don’t take any notice of Pete – he’s an old gossip.’

Old gossip or not, I was aware again that Staines was not quite as I had imagined, nor how Vince had depicted it. Apart from the feudal lord of the manor, which sounded deceptively romantic, I had to bear in mind that Vince had only visited Staines briefly and, as was his nature, was prepared to see only the best in his friends, in whom he could admit to no fault. His one weakness, he had absolutely no discernment and regrettably tended to be unduly impressed by anyone remotely connected with Royalty.

I had also to remember that he had never met Kate.

Deciding that Wolf Rider might have some valuable information, I was heading in the direction of the bothy when a large shadow hovered above my head.

A bird of prey. Alarmingly it swooped down. I leapt from my bicycle and felt the swish of wings as I yelled, shielding my face from that murderous beak.

‘Rose!’

Wolf was hurrying towards me and I felt like an absolute idiot as he said, ‘Kokopele recognised you.’

As I dusted myself down, my face scarlet with embarrassment, the falcon settled on Wolf’s gloved fist, ruffled his feathers and regarded us solemnly. An enigmatic bird indeed. At close quarters he looked innocent and rather merry as if he was hearing a funny story. His beak half open ready to laugh outright, watching us both eagerly, he looked as if he had some amusing anecdote he was dying to tell us.

I shook my head, thinking of Thane. If only animals could talk!

‘Sorry he alarmed you. His social manners leave much to be
desired. He’s on patrol for the white cow. She must be ready to drop that calf any time now. At least with Kokopele here, I will know where to look.’

‘But it’s still very dangerous.’

He shrugged that aside, stroking Kokopele
absent-mindedly
, as if walking into the midst of wild cattle to steal a calf was little more than assisting at the birth of Daisy the dairy cow.

‘How long are you staying?’

‘I am not certain. I am afraid I have been seriously misinformed.’ I could hardly tell him, as one of Hubert’s prime suspects, the real reason for the invitation and the uncertainty of my departure date.

He frowned. ‘How is that?’

I took a deep breath. ‘I was given to understand by Vince – my stepbrother – that Kate was on her deathbed and wished to see Roswal once again.’

He smiled. ‘And instead you find an apparently healthy young woman.’

‘I am glad of that—’ I interrupted.

He nodded. ‘Glowing complexions are often part of the condition, alas. I have seen many die tragically young with this disease that claims so many in our present-day society, but I have to admit that my herbs, about which Hubert has so much faith and reliance, could not really save her, or prolong her life, if she was in truth suffering from tuberculosis.’

Pausing, he frowned and shook his head. I asked: ‘What do you think – what is your diagnosis?’

He shrugged. ‘Some pulmonary weakness which exhibits the same symptoms as a more serious condition. But I
would confidently predict that with care and attention Miss Kate may have a normal life span, marry, have children, although childbearing might bring a return of the symptoms.’

‘I thought she was an only child. What happened to her sister? Was she ill too?’

‘Amy?’ He sighed. ‘A bad business. Amy was Kate’s elder sister and Kate adored her.’ He paused, looking up at the sky, in the manner of one in urgent search of something to change the subject.

‘What happened?’ I insisted.

His sad expression as he faced me again told all. ‘She died before her mother had that tragic accident. Amy was a great beauty, very wilful, very indulged. She had an ill-advised love affair with a local boy. Hubert threw her out of the house and she walked into the pond over yonder.’

‘How dreadful.’

‘She was eighteen – and pregnant.’

My imagination could cope with Hubert’s anger but not with such a violent reaction. He was only her stepfather after all. I asked the obvious question.

‘Why couldn’t they marry?’

‘Hubert absolutely forbade it.’

‘What about her mother? Surely she had a say in that?’

He shrugged. ‘Mary was shattered and Hubert was no doubt trying to protect her from further distress. Amy’s death was too much for her to bear.’

A moment’s silence and I asked: ‘Do you think that her death – falling out of the window – wasn’t accidental? That it was suicide?’

He looked thoughtful. ‘I doubt that she would have chosen
that window. Twelve feet high? A broken arm or leg. No, she would definitely have chosen something higher.’

Another pause. ‘Are you hinting that she was hit on the head first and then pushed out?’

Wolf stared at the horizon, shook his head. ‘We will never know the answer to that.’

‘What about the young man? What happened to him?’

‘Dave was a bit wild. Hubert said he was after their money, and he could have been right about that. It was one good reason for not wanting him in the family. A friend of Cedric, Mrs Robson’s nephew.’

‘I’ve met him.’

Wolf nodded. ‘They were two of a kind. Soon after Amy’s death, Dave was cleaning a gun – he had been drinking – nothing unusual about that – but it went off and killed him.’

‘Oh really!’ How very convenient. And my mind immediately signalled: Murder.

My rueful expression was not lost on Wolf. ‘I know what you are thinking, Rose. The same as the village did. But there was no proof, these kind of accidents—’ he made a gesture, ‘a young man in a highly emotional state, heartbroken by his lover’s suicide… But unfortunately no one who knew Dave believed him capable of such a reaction. Girls to him were “take them and leave them” – like Cedric.’

‘Holy terrors, as Mrs Robson would say. But you don’t think it was an accident.’

He shook his head. ‘Dave was good with guns, best shot in Alnwick, won all sorts of competitions. I don’t think he would have been careless with one, or loved any girl so much that he would want to destroy himself—’

‘And so—’

‘I think – someone – fixed the gun. But it was smoothed over. It can never be proved. The coroner’s verdict accepted and recorded. A tragic accident.’

Or was it? To my mind, that made four – or was it five? possible murders.

As we talked, a steady stream of smoke headed in our direction. A train had paused at the level crossing, then the earth vibrated as it gathered speed and headed south to London.

‘I heard about the doctor’s accident; spoke to his widow in the teashop. His death must have been a great loss to Staines.’ I decided to omit its benefits regarding her second marriage.

Wolf said nothing, intent on putting a cute tiny leather hood on the now somnolent Kokopele. I added the obvious, ‘Level crossings can be very hazardous unless they are well manned.’

‘That is true and as it is no longer needed as access to the colliery, it should have been closed. The coal seam died out several years ago and as well as taking the fortune of the Staines family it left behind shaky ground. Last year there was a great rumble, like an earthquake, and what remained of the old colliery workings collapsed.

‘The whole village flew out of doors, terrified of losing their houses and all their possessions, and gathered on the village green. Engineers arrived from Alnwick and said that the search for coal over so many years had damaged the understructure and that this was, in fact, a minor earthquake. Every time a train passed by after that, we expected there to be another tremor.

‘Hubert was very upset, feared for his fine house up there on the hill. Pictures had fallen off the walls, ornaments slid off tables. Everything has been quiet since, but it was close to the time of those other tragedies in Hubert’s life, losing his wife and Amy. He went through a very difficult time,’ he added sympathetically.

Raising his hand to shade his eyes, he looked at the sky. ‘Weather’s going to change.’

‘Looks perfect to me.’ There wasn’t a single cloud, just a vast canopy of azure blue above our heads and stretching away to infinity.

Wolf shook his head. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances, Rose. Believe me, there’s a storm, a big one, brewing up just over the horizon.’

‘How on earth can you tell?’

He shrugged again, the gesture becoming so familiar that it seemed to sum up the man himself. ‘Let us just say that I belong to a world where such knowledge still exists. We have not yet been veneered over completely by what the white man calls ‘civilisation’. We still retain some of the feelings, the affinity with nature, that Thane and his kind still possess.’

‘So that is the answer. Nothing supernatural,’ I said.

‘Rather the opposite,’ said Wolf. ‘Predicting weather is easy if you are attuned to nature. Look around you, Rose.’ He put an arm about my shoulders, and his physical closeness didn’t bother me at it had with Hubert. It was completely natural, avuncular, the way he would have tried to teach a young child.

‘Observe the trees. See how still they are, drawing into themselves as a man does his coat as the storm approaches. They have sent the signal to the leaves – have you ever seen leaves so still, as if they were alerted to danger?’

That was true, they looked as lifeless as a painted picture, frozen in time, although I would have sworn that only moments ago, they had been moving gently above our heads.

Giving me a gentle push towards my bicycle, he said, ‘Get yourself into sheltering walls, Rose. You can warn them up there, of course, but they probably won’t believe that there will be storm, a wild destructive storm before many more hours have passed.’

As I headed back I had more things on my mind, I must confess, than Wolf’s predicted storm. I was thinking of those five deaths and not one of them that might truly be classed as ‘natural causes’.

Amy’s suicide, then her lover, Dave, encounters a faulty gun and her heartbroken mother falls out of the window. Dr Holt’s carriage encounters a train on the level crossing, which also accounts for the accident to Lily’s angry father.

Collecting Thane, who gazed rather resentfully at my bicycle that had deprived him of a walk, I took him inside to see Kate who again hardly looked up from her book. Thane made no joyous attempt to interrupt her and sat down grumpily near the door.

As I patted his head, he gave me a reproachful look, sank his head upon his paws, and with an almost human sigh, closed his eyes.

Back in my room, I knew I must direct all my concentration and energy towards the main issue: Hubert’s blackmailer.

At this stage I thought it extremely unlikely that therewould be any clue to link the five unfortunate deaths with the stolen photographs, but I was, after all, being paid handsomely to think positively.

Regretting the absence of my logbook, still in Edinburgh
with all its cases written up, I used instead the back pages of the sketchbook which accompanied me everywhere. It seemed extremely unlikely that I would find time to sketch rural scenes on this particular assignment.

So I began my list of possible suspects:

First, Lily the maid and friend of Kate, whom I had already decided was an unlikely blackmailer unless she had an accomplice. But from Mrs Robson, I knew that Lily had married a railwayman who, no doubt familiar with the main line, would have ample opportunity to post blackmailing notes from Newcastle. The couple now lived in Alnwick, information that was useless unless I could discover his surname.

And then, as always, what was the motive? Mrs Robson said the couple had been given a substantial sum by Hubert. Had Lily’s husband decided that it wasn’t enough?

To build further on this picture, I imagined Lily’s husband, armed with information from his wife, a former maid in the house, breaking in and stealing the photographs, simply intent on making some money out of them. Or was it possible that Lily had posed as a model in some of Hubert’s revealing photographs? If her husband had seen them, with or without Lily’s knowledge, jealous and angry, had he decided to have his revenge?

The letter Hubert had shown me was not one of those
ill-spelt
pencilled notes I had encountered in two similar cases in Edinburgh, but suggested the hand of someone with cunning enough to cut out the letters from a newspaper, making it all the more impossible to identify the sender.

And that led me to the second name on my list: Collins, who seemed certain to have ready access to the required
ingredients. I could see her diligently cutting out letters and sticking them on paper.

Was she desperate and angry that her position as Hubert’s lover was not likely to end in marriage after all? She had a lot to gain financially but also a lot to lose – Hubert, if he ever found out.

I would need to know a great deal more about Collins than our brief acquaintance had revealed so far. All I knew was that she was unable to disguise her feelings of dislike and fear that I was trying to steal her lover.

A ridiculous idea, but I would be wise to discover her background. How she had met Hubert, what of her family, if any, and so forth.

Third was Wolf Rider. This I could not take seriously even though he and Hubert were distant cousins – family relationships were so often a reason for murder, where inheritance was the prize. Did Wolf, despite what he had told me, nurse secret yearnings to become lord of an English manor? Perhaps he needed money if he wished to return to Arizona or wanted to buy a home here in Britain. But since he claimed to like Scotland and seemed totally disinterested in material possessions, I could not imagine him taking such a bizarre action.

I felt I could safely cross his name off my list.

Fourth was Grace Sloan, the doctor’s widow. Before meeting her, I had wondered if she had borne an unknown grudge against Hubert Staines, possibly relating to her husband’s untimely death. But when we met, she was candid enough to reveal that she had been glad to be rid of Dr Holt so that she could marry again. And though she and her new husband, Peter, clearly disliked Hubert, they were both
unlikely candidates for the role of blackmailer – unless they knew of the photographs and were chancing their luck. Unlikely, was my comment.

I was left with the remaining permanent occupants of Staines Manor: Kate, whom, of course, I could dismiss – apart from being an invalid, she was also Hubert’s indulged stepdaughter, with everything she desired.

Mrs Robson was an even more unlikely suspect. Although she perhaps had more chance of finding the incriminating photographs as she had free access to Hubert’s study for cleaning purposes, I doubted whether she would have considered them worthy of more than a brief and perhaps shocked glance. I was fairly certain it would never have entered her mind, had she even desperately needed the money, to imperil her immortal soul by challenging her master, a member of the class she venerated as so much above her.

But there was one more suspect on my list. The ne’er-
do-well
Cedric, whose character Mrs Robson reluctantly admitted left much to be desired. Suppose she had mentioned the photographs in a hushed and scandalised voice, and that gave him the idea that they were worth taking a look at. He had access to the house and in Hubert’s absence he might have seized the opportunity to steal them.

I decided that, so far, Cedric was the most likely candidate for the role of blackmailer with the best motive, a lack of moral conscience and a constant need of money.

So I put a star against his name and closed my book without the least idea where to begin. There were no clear roads into this labyrinth. I had hoped initially that meeting Grace, the doctor’s widow, would start peeling the onion,
leading to the next layer and so on. But I now realised that I had no leads to follow. Except Cedric.

How to question him? Could I ask start by asking him to tell me about the gun incident and the death of Amy’s lover, events that had little to do with Hubert’s blackmailer? I winced away from any closer acquaintance with that knowing leer, his eyes crawling all over me like black beetles.

I did not doubt that this was going to prove a very difficult case, and I had a shrewd idea that I was going to earn every shilling of that handsome fee, those two hundred guineas.

I suppose I should have felt heartened that my role as Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed was the main reason Hubert had been so anxious to bring me to Staines, since Kate’s reactions to her ‘beloved lost deerhound’ indicated that she instinctively recognised that he was not her Roswal.

And I had a certain impetus for solving this case: the sooner I apprehended Hubert’s blackmailer, the sooner Thane and I would be free to return home to Edinburgh. I resolved to start immediately.

In that my instinct was correct, for by the next morning, when the clock had moved forward twelve hours, the scene had changed dramatically. The stage was set and, like the storm steadily approaching but still mercifully veiled, there were terrible events lying in wait.

The first attempted murder…