Jigsaw (29 page)

Holding the little figure, she continued her examination of the carvings until, on the floor against the wall, she came upon a larger one, partly covered with a cloth, and turned enquiringly.

‘It's Charlotte Spencer,' Lois said, adding as Rona stared at her, ‘You can uncover it if you like. I'm not quite satisfied with it yet, probably because it's been done from memory.'

Almost apprehensively, Rona lifted the cloth to reveal the laughing bust of a young child, so full of joy and life that she felt tears come to her eyes. Lois had come to stand beside her. ‘It's for Beth, of course, though she doesn't know anything about it.'

‘It's beautiful,' Rona said in a low voice. ‘I saw the newspaper photos, and you seem to have captured her exactly.'

Lois sighed and, gently taking the cloth out of Rona's hand, dropped it back over the bust. All at once, there seemed nothing left to say, and after thanking her again for the little model, Rona left the vicarage and made her belated way to the library.

Beth, who'd arranged to have the afternoon off work, arrived at Parsonage Place as agreed at one thirty. The morning cloud had dissipated and it was becoming increasingly hot.

‘I wouldn't like to run far in this heat!' Rona commented, climbing into the car.

Beth nodded agreement, reversing in one of the parking places and heading back out of the end of the road. From the tail of her eye, Rona caught sight of Dave's car parked at the kerb.

‘I brought a couple of sun hats,' Beth said. ‘There's not much shade on the field.'

‘You said this was Middle School Sports Day?'

‘Yes; and thank goodness it's the only one I'll have to attend. Last year, Harry was still with the juniors.'

As they turned on to the road leading to the college, they joined a stream of other cars moving slowly in the same direction.

‘How are your articles coming along?' Beth asked as they inched forward.

‘Not too badly; I still have to look into the town's inhabitants through the ages – you know, merchants, builders, squires, landlords, inventors. It's the people that make the place come alive. I've already clocked up past mayors and vicars, and of course the people everyone knows about – James Cunningham, General Salter and Piers Plowright, who are always associated with Buckford.'

‘We had a highwayman in the seventeenth century,' Beth volunteered, edging inside the gateway at last.

‘Really? That's great! You must tell me about him.'

‘Mrs Bishop included him in her scrapbook. Have you read it?'

The image of Catherine Bishop walking with her father came sharply into Rona's mind, and was instantly dismissed. ‘Not thoroughly,' she admitted after a minute. ‘I haven't really had time. It'll be better when I'm not coming up here every week.'

‘Well, my sons will fill you in on him, gladly! They spent a whole summer holiday once, dressing up as Kit Tempest and his cohorts.'

Halfway up the drive, they were directed by senior boys to a field set aside for visitors' cars, and as they continued on foot, they could see bunting and flags in the trees and chairs lining the track, while a loudspeaker blared out its repetitious ‘Testing – one, two, three, four—' Nearer to the school, two large marquees had been set up, and Beth nodded towards them.

‘Tea tents,' she said. ‘One for parents, the other for the pupils.'

The chairs near what would be the finishing line had already filled up, and they took their seats roughly halfway along. The sun was now burning down and Rona was grateful for the linen hat Beth handed her.

‘I haven't been to a sports day since I was at school myself!' she confessed, glancing down at the programme they'd been handed. ‘How long does it last?'

‘Two till four, then tea. By that time, I assure you, we'll all be ready for it!'

‘Which races are your sons in?'

Beth leant over and indicated them on the programme. ‘There are two members from each house in every race,' she explained, ‘and they compete for the house rather than individually. My two are in different houses, so my loyalty's divided.'

The chairs along the track had now filled up and people were spreading rugs on the grass. The loudspeaker blared into life with a loud Sousa march, which, after a couple of minutes, ended abruptly to give way to an announcer.

‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Welcome to Buckford College Sports Day. The first race will begin in five minutes, so please will those taking part assemble on the starting line?'

The races followed one another, with little to distinguish them. After a while Rona grew tired of watching wiry little bodies, none of whom she knew, dash past her, while supportive parents yelled encouragement. To Beth's delight, both the Spencer boys won their races, so family honour was vindicated here, at least. As time went on, however, Rona found herself longing for a drink and some shade, and it was with profound relief that she watched the prizes being presented and people at last collecting their belongings and making their way to the refreshment tent.

A full afternoon tea was provided. There were plates of sandwiches, scones and small iced cakes on each table, and kitchen staff wielding catering-sized teapots moved between them. At the far side of the marquee, the headmaster and his wife were circulating among their guests. Helena, cool in coffee-coloured trousers and a cream shirt, carried a large-brimmed hat which no doubt had shielded her from the heat of the afternoon.

Rona and Beth had almost finished by the time their turn came and Richard Maddox's smooth voice said, ‘Good afternoon, ladies. May we join you for a few minutes?'

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a chair for his wife and sat down himself.

‘The boys did well for their respective houses, Mrs Spencer,' he continued. ‘You must be proud of them.'

‘Indeed I am. I'm only sorry their father wasn't here to see it.' There was a brief, awkward silence, then she added, ‘Perhaps next year, he will be.'

Richard Maddox's hand stilled on the table. ‘Oh?' he said neutrally. ‘Has a date been set for the appeal?'

‘Not yet, but Miss Parish here has a new lead that gives a completely different slant on things. The police won't have any option but to reopen the case.'

Rona, momentarily stunned into silence, gazed at her in consternation, and was about to deny any such claim when Helena said plaintively, ‘But I don't understand; what could possibly come up after all this time?'

‘I heard rumours were circulating,' Richard Maddox remarked, his voice cold. ‘Unsubstantiated, I don't doubt. I can't think it's very healthy to reopen old wounds like this.'

Beth said heatedly, ‘The wounds are far from old, Mr Maddox, they're raw and painful. My husband did not kill Barry Pollard, and I'm convinced the truth will clear him, once it can be unravelled.'

Maddox's nostrils were pinched, his thin lips tightly compressed. A closed face, possibly a cruel one. ‘Of course we make allowances for your feelings, Mrs Spencer – only natural, after all. I simply think Miss Parish would be better employed with ancient rather than modern history. There is plenty of it, after all.'

‘And talking of ancient history,' Rona put in desperately, ‘Mrs Spencer tells me you had a highwayman in these parts?'

Beth, aware she'd overstepped the mark, threw her a look of apology and came to her rescue. ‘That's right – we were just speaking about him.'

Richard Maddox made no reply, and it was Helena, with a quick look at his set face, who answered. ‘Yes, Kit Tempest. His birthplace is only a few miles away. You ought to see it, Rona.'

Beth looked startled at the use of the first name, and Richard raised an eyebrow.

Rona said, ‘Unfortunately this is my last visit for the moment. I'm not sure I'd—'

‘But you really should make the effort,' Helena insisted. ‘There's one of those new centres, where you walk round seeing tableaux illustrating his life. It's really very well done, and there are books for sale that you'd find useful, and showcases of his guns and masks.'

Rona hesitated. A highwayman would certainly add colour.

‘I know,' Helena said suddenly, ‘why don't I drive you over, tomorrow afternoon? I haven't been for a while and there are some new exhibits. Also –' she flashed Rona a smile – ‘there's a catalogue I promised to lend Magda that I haven't got round to sending. I'd be very grateful if you could take it back with you. Quid pro quo?'

Before Rona could reply, Richard Maddox intervened. ‘Don't pressurize her, darling; she's already said her time is limited, and I'm sure she has more relevant things to attend to.'

Rona addressed herself to Helena. ‘I'd be happy to take the catalogue, without any return favours.'

Nevertheless, Helena Maddox interested her and Richard was patently not happy with the suggestion. Perhaps an afternoon in her company might shed some light on her enigmatic husband. If
he
had had any motive for killing Barry Pollard, Rona felt sure he was capable of doing so.

‘There's a good teashop there, too,' Helena wheedled, glancing at the empty cake plate.

Rona capitulated. ‘That settles it! Thanks, I'd like to go.'

Richard Maddox stood up abruptly and pulled out his wife's chair. ‘We must move on, dear,' he said in a clipped voice. ‘We've still several people to speak to.'

‘Two thirty?' Helena suggested. ‘I'll pick you up at your digs.' And, with her husband's hand lightly but firmly on her arm, she moved away.

‘I saw you talking to Mrs Maddox at the funeral,' Beth said later, as they waited for the boys to join them, ‘but I didn't realize you knew her well.'

‘I don't really; she's the friend of a friend.'

‘She used to give Lottie piano lessons, did you know?' Beth flicked Rona a sideways glance. ‘Sorry I dropped you in it just now, but I wanted to shake them out of their complacency. I hate the way everyone accepts Alan's guilt.'

Since he'd been convicted in Crown Court, Rona felt she could hardly blame them.

‘I think you can take it their complacency was well and truly shaken,' she said.

She'd been back in her room for only five minutes when she was disconcerted by a tap on the door, and as she twisted to face it, Nuala looked in.

‘Don't do that to me!' Rona exclaimed, laughing. ‘I thought I had the house to myself.'

‘Sorry. No, I – didn't feel up to the exercise class this evening, so a friend's taken Dad along with her father.'

Rona studied her more closely. She looked pale and tense, and, she saw, was holding some small, leather-covered volumes.

‘I've been going through Auntie's things,' Nuala said rapidly, ‘and I found her diaries.' A flush brought a wash of colour to her face. ‘I felt really awful reading them. I wouldn't have dreamt of it, if it hadn't been for – you know – and the fact that it might be important.'

‘Go on,' Rona said drily.

‘Well, I found them – the entries she'd made about the lovers.'

Rona came to her feet, her heart starting to thump. ‘Who were they?' she demanded urgently.

Nuala shook her head, her eyes falling to the books. ‘She only wrote their initials, but Rona, it must have been going on for months. She—'

‘Nuala!'

‘Sorry. AS and HM. If there's a link with Lottie, as we thought there might be, then AS has to be Alan Spencer, but I can't for the life of me think of any HM.'

‘Helena Maddox,' Rona supplied whitely.

Nuala frowned. ‘Who . . .? You mean the headmaster's wife, up at the college? Is that her name?'

Rona sank back on to her chair without replying. Alan Spencer and Helena Maddox? It was a combination she would never have contemplated.

‘But did they even know each other?' Nuala asked, clearly bewildered.

‘It's possible; Mrs Maddox gave Lottie piano lessons.' Yet surely Alan would have been at work during her visits? Even if he were home, Beth would also have been there, and nothing could have been said in front of the child.

‘I wonder if Mr Maddox knew?' Nuala mused, and Rona went suddenly cold. What was it she'd been thinking, only that afternoon? That if he'd had a motive, she could imagine him killing without compunction? Suppose for a moment that Maddox had for some reason suspected
Pollard
of being his wife's lover? A completely different picture would emerge.

But, she admitted, her heartbeats steadying, she'd nothing whatever to back that theory. Even if she was right about the initials – and it was important to remember there'd be other HMs in Buckford – the stark fact remained that it was Spencer who'd been involved with Helena Maddox, and he was still alive.

All the same, it would be interesting to know where Richard Maddox had been when Pollard was stabbed. She bet it had never occurred to the police to ask – as, indeed, why should it? But if she wanted to test her hypothesis, she would have to beard Ed Barrett in his den, a prospect she did not relish.

Nuala had been watching the changing expressions on her face. ‘Does it help at all?' she asked doubtfully.

‘To be honest, I don't know. We're only guessing who the initials stand for – we've no proof.' Except Spencer's admission, which she'd promised not to repeat.

She glanced at the diaries in Nuala's hand. ‘Is there nothing at all that gives a clearer hint of their identity? What does your aunt actually say?'

Nuala perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Her first reaction was pure shock.' She met Rona's eyes defensively. ‘She wasn't snooping, you know; she didn't
want
to see them – in fact, it really upset her, and she even gave up her walks for a while. She made every effort to avoid them, and whenever she did catch sight of them, she moved away at once. She didn't eavesdrop or anything.'