The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) (10 page)

‘I’ll come with you. I must get home now, as there’s such a lot to see to.’

He looked as though he would like to object but said nothing and merely waited politely.

‘Shall I come up to the house later?’ said Mary. ‘I can help with your things.’

‘Oh, yes please, Mary, that’s terribly kind of you,’ said Mrs. Sheridan, and she and Jack Lomax left together, followed shortly by Jonathan.

‘Doesn’t Mr. Lomax like Mrs. Sheridan?’ said Angela as soon as they had gone.

‘Why, it’s funny you should say that, because I’ve often thought it myself,’ said Mary. ‘I don’t think he does like her much, no.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Mary. ‘You know he doesn’t talk a lot, but I get the impression he thinks she was bad for Raymond. She does require a lot of attention, as you may have noticed.’

‘I had, rather,’ admitted Angela.

‘Well, some people are better at dealing with things than others,’ said Mary. ‘Virginia is one of those types who need a lot of help.’

‘And she seems to get it, too,’ said Angela.

‘She has just lost her husband, of course,’ said Mary. ‘It’s only right that one’s friends should rally round in circumstances such as these. I shall go along to the house in a little while and see what I can do. Oh dear—I do hope she’s going to be all right.’

Mary had things to do and so shortly afterwards Angela left and walked slowly back to the hotel, thinking about the events of that morning and in particular Jonathan’s theory that the Quinns had been responsible for driving Mr. Sheridan to suicide. It was an extraordinary theory, certainly, but Angela knew little about hypnotism and so had no idea whether or not it was feasible. From what she had heard of the art, she seemed to remember that a hypnotized subject might be induced to do things he would not normally be inclined to do in the wakened state—but whether that extended to killing himself she could not tell; it seemed unlikely to her that a subject could be persuaded to act against his own safety. Furthermore, in this particular case, the theory did not satisfactorily explain the matter of Raymond Sheridan’s shoe-laces. Why had he left the house without first fastening his shoes and his jacket? Had it been only one shoe-lace then that might be easily explained by its having come undone on the walk down to the summer-house. But for two to come loose in that short distance? From what Angela had observed of Mr. Sheridan, who had struck her as fastidious in all matters of dress, it seemed most unlike him.

She arrived back at the hotel and went in to lunch, idly wondering what was required to institute a post-mortem investigation on a dead body in Italy. Ought she to speak to Mr. D’Onofrio again? But he already knew as much as she did about the manner of Mr. Sheridan’s death, and he had made no mention of such an investigation, and of course it was none of her business anyway: she could not simply start making demands of the local police or instructing them as to how to conduct their inquiries. No—she would leave well alone and allow Mr. D’Onofrio to act as he saw fit, and in the meantime she would carry on with her holiday.

And yet the nagging doubt remained there in her mind.

Elsa had gone to Lugano for the day and so Angela lunched alone. Afterwards she fell into conversation with Mr. Morandi, who could always be relied upon to be fully apprised of all the latest gossip. As she had expected, he had heard the rumour about the Quinns’ supposed inheritance, but to her surprise he explained that he had heard it from the Quinns themselves, who had been most indignant about the stories that had been circulating about them and had gone straight to Mr. Morandi himself, rightly supposing him to be the quickest conduit through which to quash the rumours.

‘Mrs. Quinn was very upset when she heard it,’ he said. ‘She says it is a dreadful calumny and that if Mr. Sheridan did leave her some money then she knows nothing of it.’

‘Why is it a calumny?’ said Angela. ‘Does she mean that people are suggesting there may have been foul play in some sense?’

Mr. Morandi lowered his voice.

‘There have been suggestions that all is not—how do you say?—above the board,’ he said.

‘But what are they meant to have done?’

He shrugged.

‘If I told you half the things I have heard about Mrs. and Miss Quinn in the past two days you would be shocked. And then you would look at the Quinns and say to yourself, “No, this is absurd, and the people who spread rumours are very stupid. I shall listen no more.” That is what I have done.’

He then went off, and Angela was left with a burning curiosity to know exactly what stories had been going around. If even Mr. Morandi was refusing to pass on the rumours, then they must indeed be preposterous ones.

It was another fine, sunny day and as she had been sitting down all morning she decided to take a walk along the lake-front in the direction away from the town. The sun was sparkling off the surface of the water and the landing-stage was busy with day-trippers, tourists and boatmen getting into and out of the various pleasure-craft which plied their trade on the lake, and Angela stopped to watch for a moment, tempted to join them and spend the afternoon on the water. She decided against it, however, and continued her walk. A little farther along, away from the hotels, the front was quieter, and here Angela found Jack Lomax with his two pupils, who were taking advantage of the favourable light to paint the lake from an unaccustomed angle. Angela was a little surprised that Lomax felt capable of working so soon after the death of his friend—and indeed he had an air of preoccupation about him—but then she reflected that for such a dedicated artist perhaps painting was a means for him to forget his troubles for a little while.

‘I hope you’re feeling better now,’ said Angela to Christopher Tate, after she had duly examined and admired their work. ‘I understand you haven’t been well.’

‘Yes, thanks, I’m perfectly recovered,’ he said. ‘It was the weather, you know—that sort of heavy humidity has never agreed with me, and it always gives me the most ghastly headache, but it’s quite passed now, thank goodness!’

Angela looked at him and wondered whether Christopher could possibly be telling the truth, for to her he still looked very ill. His face was white and drawn, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He fidgeted continually as he talked and at one point nearly knocked over a water jar full of brushes. As he painted he darted frequent glances at Jack Lomax, who was abstracted and did not seem to have noticed. The hero-worship was still in evidence, but it seemed to have grown even more intense in the past few days. Angela watched as Lomax praised some aspect of Francis’s painting, and saw that Christopher’s face immediately fell and became disconsolate. Lomax seemed to have noticed it too, for soon afterwards he came over to look at Christopher’s painting and remarked upon its fine brush-work. Christopher seemed relieved, which struck Angela as an odd reaction. Perhaps he had blotted his copy-book in some way and was attempting to win back Lomax’s favour.

She saluted them and walked on, and soon came to the gates of the Villa Pozzi. There she stopped and glanced up the drive. A little way ahead was the summer-house, and she gazed at it thoughtfully, trying to bring to mind anything she might have forgotten about the events of Wednesday afternoon. After a few moments she shook her head impatiently and was preparing to pass on when she heard a voice calling her name and saw Mary Ainsley and Virginia Sheridan walking arm-in-arm down the drive towards her.

‘Mary has been helping me to unpack,’ explained Mrs. Sheridan, ‘but the house is so gloomy and stuffy that I simply couldn’t bear to spend another moment there and I had to get outside or I thought I should burst.’

Angela regarded Mrs. Sheridan sympathetically. She looked a little better than she had that morning, with slightly more colour in her cheeks, although she still clung to Mary like a child.

‘Virginia was just saying she thinks she might have to sell the place,’ said Mary. ‘I can’t say I blame her, after what’s happened.’

‘No,’ said Mrs. Sheridan. ‘It’s such an awfully big house for one person, and I can’t possibly manage the gardens by myself. Oh, dear, and they were Raymond’s pride and joy.’

Two large tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, and she fumbled for a handkerchief.

‘No, I promised I wouldn’t be like this,’ she said after a moment or two. ‘I must think about practical things, mustn’t I, Mary?’

‘That’s probably the best idea,’ replied Mrs. Ainsley. ‘It will help take your mind off what’s happened. Oh, by the way, Angela, I do wish we hadn’t mentioned anything to Jonathan this morning about the Quinns. I think he is going to be quite impossible on the subject.’

‘Really?’ said Angela. ‘In what way?’

‘Why, he’s fastened onto this silly hypnotism idea, of course. He was silent all through lunch, and then quite suddenly came out and asked me if I’d ever felt myself feeling sleepy while talking to Mrs. Quinn, and had I ever thought they might be trying to persuade me to do something against my will? Naturally, I gave him my best snort and told him in no uncertain terms that he ought to forget about the Quinns and start concentrating on his worshippers, in case he lost them altogether, but I don’t think he was listening. He went out and said he was going to visit Mrs. Rowe.’

‘Is Mrs. Rowe the woman who was supposed to be planning to include the Quinns in her will?’ said Angela. ‘The one whose son wasn’t happy about it?’

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ said Mary. ‘I dare say Jonathan is haranguing her at this very moment, trying to get her to admit that she was hypnotized into it. Poor woman. And she walks with sticks so she can’t even run away.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Angela, trying not to laugh at Mary’s rueful face, since she saw that her friend was genuinely worried.

‘Yes,’ said Mary. ‘I am rather worried that he’s going to cause trouble. I’ve told him that it’s unchristian to spread rumours, but he’s adamant that it doesn’t apply in the case of the Quinns, since they are as good as criminals and he is doing a good turn to society in warning people against them.’

‘I don’t think he’s the only one, though,’ said Angela. ‘I was speaking to Mr. Morandi earlier and he said he had heard a lot of silly rumours about them. He wouldn’t tell me what they were, but I gather there has been a lot of talk in the town over the past couple of days. It looks as though the Quinns are under rather a cloud of suspicion at present.’

‘Poor things,’ said Mary. ‘Even if they aren’t quite the thing I don’t suppose for a moment they had anything to do with what happened to Raymond, but once a rumour takes hold there is no quashing it.’

Virginia Sheridan had been listening to all this with astonishment.

‘Do you mean to say that people think the Quinns had something to do with Raymond’s death?’ she said. ‘How are they meant to have done it?’

Reluctantly, Mary told her about the hypnotism theory and she opened her eyes wide.

‘Why, surely that’s nonsense!’ she said.

‘Of course it’s nonsense,’ said Mary, ‘but I’m afraid reports are going about that he left them some money in his will, which supposedly gives them a motive. You don’t happen to know whether he
did
leave them anything, do you?’

‘He never told me anything about it if he did,’ said Mrs. Sheridan. ‘But he never made any secret of the fact that he was very grateful to them, so I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had left them something. I doubt it would be very much, though—and certainly not enough to induce them to—’ she tailed off.

‘That’s exactly what I said to Jonathan,’ said Mary, ‘but he wouldn’t be convinced. I really must persuade him to take a holiday. I think the strains of the job are getting on his nerves, rather.’ She suddenly remembered something. ‘But Angela,’ she said, ‘I quite forgot to ask you what happened during your séance. You never told me your impressions of the Quinns.’

‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ said Angela, who had almost forgotten about the thing in view of subsequent events. She recounted what had happened during their sitting, and told Mary what she had thought of the Quinns—that is, that they were harmless charlatans who provided a little excitement for a modest fee.

‘I thought you’d say that,’ said Mary.

‘Perhaps I was the wrong person to look into it,’ said Angela. ‘I am a naturally sceptical person with no particular susceptibilities and so was unlikely to be terribly badly affected by it. I’m fairly sure they didn’t try to hypnotize me, at any rate—not least because the sitting went so badly—but I can’t say what influence they might have on someone of a less—let us say robust—disposition than mine.’

‘Someone like me, you mean?’ said Mrs. Sheridan suddenly. ‘What effect do you think they’d have on me?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mary, ‘but I do hope you’re not planning to go along and find out.’

‘Why not?’ said Mrs. Sheridan.

‘Why, because you’ve just lost your husband, darling,’ said Mary. ‘It would be quite absurd.’

‘But surely that’s why I am the very person to do it,’ said Mrs. Sheridan. ‘Raymond
was
my husband, after all, and if anyone has an interest in finding out how he died then I do. If they really have been hypnotizing people in order to bend them to their will, then someone needs to find it out and stop them.’

‘But you can’t do that by yourself,’ said Mary. ‘How on earth will you know if you
have
been hypnotized? If they really are guilty then they will surely be cunning and do it without your knowledge. Now, Virginia, I really don’t think you ought to be thinking about anything of the sort at present. You simply aren’t well enough.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ said Mrs. Sheridan. ‘Really, there isn’t. And someone must do it.’

In vain Mary tried to dissuade her but she was quite obstinate. She would sit for the Quinns at all costs and judge for herself whether they had had a hand in the death of her husband. She wanted to do something useful, she said. Mary saw that she was determined and said:

‘Very well, then—do it if you must, but I won’t let you go alone. Angela, suppose you go with her? Jonathan would never forgive me if I did it.’

Angela had seen this coming as soon as Mrs. Sheridan spoke, and had already resigned herself.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I agree that it would be best for two of us to go, although I don’t suppose we’ll discover anything conclusive.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Mrs. Sheridan with a little sob. ‘But I could never live with myself if I knew that Raymond had died in suspicious circumstances and yet did nothing.’

‘No-one will ever accuse you of that,’ said Mary soothingly.

Virginia Sheridan set her jaw.

‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘I shall go to the hotel now and tell Mr. Morandi to call the Quinns and arrange a séance. Will tomorrow afternoon be suitable, Mrs. Marchmont?’

Angela said that tomorrow afternoon would be perfect, and they parted, Mary and Virginia to go to the Hotel del Lago and Angela to continue her walk.