The Shadow at Greystone Chase (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 10) (17 page)

‘Who was his visitor?’ said Freddy. ‘Did you ever find out?’

‘No,’ said Harrington. ‘I expect it was the chap who got him the stuff. He never showed his face again—luckily for him, as I’d have had some things to say if he had.’

‘Ye-es,’ said Freddy thoughtfully. He was looking at the matter in an entirely different light. The death of Henry Lacey so soon after that of his sister struck him as particularly suspicious, especially given the circumstances. What if Henry had known something about Selina’s death and had taken the opportunity to blackmail the de Lisles in return for his silence? It would certainly explain why they had given him a job which seemed to require nothing of him, and why he had seemed to be so much in funds for the last year of his life. Of course, in the normal way of things one would have expected him to go straight to the police if he knew or suspected who had really killed Selina, but if at the time he had been an habitual user of morphine then perhaps the lure of money had been too much to resist. Was that what had happened?

He thanked Oliver Harrington and promised to speak to Marguerite Harrison about the young artist’s work, then took his leave and headed back to Fleet Street. The conversation had been suggestive, to say the least, although it had produced little in the way of solid evidence. It now looked as though Godfrey de Lisle had had a much stronger motive than his brother for killing Selina, and might even have had the opportunity to do it if the killing had taken place
after
dinner rather than before, as the police had assumed. But how could Godfrey’s guilt be proved? If no evidence could be found, then the stain would remain on Edgar Valencourt’s character, such as it was, and his brother would have got away with murder—a fitting revenge indeed on those who had slighted him.

F
REDDY LOST NO time in visiting Angela to apprise her of the details of his conversation with Oliver Harrington. Angela was surprised but pleased that her suspicions of Godfrey de Lisle had been proved correct.

‘I suppose we oughtn’t to be too surprised at Valencourt’s stealing Selina from under his brother’s nose,’ she said. ‘He always was very fond of taking what didn’t belong to him.’

Freddy glanced at her but her face revealed nothing.

‘Do you really suppose Henry Lacey was murdered?’ she went on. ‘How can we find out?’

‘I shall see what I can discover from the police,’ said Freddy. ‘His death was ruled accidental, but that’s not to say there were no suspicions at the time.’

‘Still, we’re unlikely ever to prove it,’ said Angela. ‘This is what I feared would happen. There’s just enough doubt about Valencourt’s guilt to justify an investigation, but seemingly not enough evidence to exonerate him. I suppose this is almost as far as we can go with our inquiries. I had better go and see Mr. Gilverson and tell him what we’ve found out—although it’s of precious little use. Still, I’ve done what I promised, and I don’t think I can be blamed for retiring gracefully from the case if we don’t find out anything more about Henry’s death in the next few days.’

Freddy was relieved. He had failed to persuade Angela to give it up, but even she knew that there was no longer any reason for her to continue if they had reached a dead end. Of course, it was unfortunate for Valencourt if indeed he had not killed his wife, but even if they
had
managed to prove him innocent it was not as though he could have emerged from the shadows and resumed his normal life, since he was sought for other crimes than murder. He would forever be a wanted man, destined to remain in hiding.

Freddy went off, promising to call if he found out anything more from the police about Henry Lacey’s death, and Angela was left alone to think. It had not escaped her notice that Freddy had been seizing any excuse he could to try and talk her out of the investigation, although she had firmly resisted every attack. Moreover, she had begun to see a worried look in Marthe’s eye lately—or perhaps it had been there all the time; she was not quite sure. The thought irritated her. Did everybody really believe her to be such a weakling? Why, she was perfectly well. True, the trial had been upsetting, but she had come through it and, she flattered herself, had been successful in her attempts to resume her normal life. Of course, the investigation into Selina de Lisle’s murder was a little inconvenience, in that it tended to remind her of things she preferred to forget, but it would soon be over and then she would be happy again, she was sure of it.

She sighed and turned to a looking-glass which hung on the wall. A tired face looked out at her and she grimaced at it, then spent some time examining herself dispassionately. Marthe was right: all this travelling about did little for the complexion, and Angela felt she was looking distinctly peaky. Perhaps she ought to have taken her maid’s advice and gone somewhere warm on the Continent. Or there was always the States. She had received a letter from her American lawyer that morning about the sale of Bernstein & Associates. The terms were acceptable to the buyer, he said, but there were one or two points that merited further discussion, and it would be better if she were there to attend to them in person. But how could she concentrate on business abroad when there were matters still to resolve here?

Somewhat irrationally, given her rejection of Freddy’s attempts to get her off the case, she would have been only too glad to find a good excuse to give it up, and she felt a little relieved at the thought that she would shortly be able to withdraw with a clear conscience. She had done all she could, and nobody could say she had not tried her hardest. Very soon she could resume her efforts to forget the past few months, as she had been doing before Mr. Gilverson sent his letter. The investigation had been an uncomfortable experience, but she had no intention of allowing it to disturb her peace of mind any more than necessary. Of course she had been foolish—she had admitted as much to Freddy after the trial—but she was certainly not foolish enough to mourn a man who had been so eminently unsuitable in every way, whether he had murdered his wife or not. It had been an attraction on her part which had been most unlike her, and for which she never ceased to chide herself. As for him, if he wanted to go around confessing to murders he had not committed—well, that was entirely his own affair. She had not asked him to do it, and could not possibly be held responsible for the consequences. That was the right way to look at it, she told herself, and for a moment she
almost
managed to believe it. That would have to do for the present, but she was sure it would become easier as time passed. Now all she had to do was to convince her friends that there was no need to worry about her, as they evidently did. It was kind of them, but entirely pointless, since of course there was nothing at all wrong with her.

‘I am perfectly all right,’ she said firmly to her reflection, and pasted on a bright smile.

Nonetheless, she was still feeling out of sorts as she went to see Mr. Gilverson. The solicitor greeted her with his usual impeccable courtesy and was only too keen to hear what she had to report. He raised his eyebrows when Angela mentioned her suspicions about Godfrey’s motive.

‘Ah, of course,’ he said. ‘I must confess I had forgotten about that particular incident, since Godfrey married Victorine not long after his engagement with Selina came to an end and the thing was, of course, never mentioned within the family. Edgar had the decency not to boast about it, at least. I’m not quite sure how it all happened, but yes, I believe there was a certain amount of resentment on Godfrey’s part.’

‘Enough for him to wish them dead, do you think?’ said Angela.

Mr. Gilverson considered.

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘He is very like his father in many respects, and has a tendency to hold a grudge. Yes, I can see why one might be suspicious of him.’

‘And it seems he may have no alibi,’ said Angela. ‘He
or
his wife, in fact. According to Victorine, he spent much of the evening alone in the study, while she went to bed early as she was coming down with a cold. Either of them might have done it some time after dinner and hidden Selina’s body in the cupboard.’

‘Oh, you suspect Victorine too, do you?’

‘She disliked Selina,’ said Angela, ‘and she certainly looks as though she has the physical strength to have done it, although I can’t think of a reason why she would want to pin the blame deliberately on her brother-in-law, as she didn’t seem to have any particular animosity towards him. I think Godfrey is the more likely of the two, but I shouldn’t rule out his wife. Then there is the matter of Henry Lacey.’

‘Yes,’ said Gilverson. ‘Now that is a surprise to me, since the possibility of murder was never suggested at the time, as far as I know. Do you think the visitor Harrington heard might have been someone Lacey knew from Kent?’

‘It’s possible. Freddy certainly thinks it might have been. He is going to speak to the police and see what they have to say about it. Of course, even if it turns out that there is some doubt, then we are in the same position as with the murder of Selina, since we have no proof. Henry Lacey certainly died of an overdose of morphine, but there is no way of finding out whether he took it himself or whether it was administered deliberately by someone else. It’s all very well having suspicions, but I’m afraid that simply won’t be good enough for the Home Office, which is not going to reopen an investigation on such flimsy grounds.’

‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ said Mr. Gilverson.

‘So I’m afraid this is where it ends,’ said Angela, and with those words felt a sudden rush of relief. ‘Unless Freddy gets another lead from Henry’s death then there’s nothing more I can do. It’s all been quite unsatisfactory, to tell the truth. I feel as though I’ve been chasing around in circles and have nothing much to show for it except suspicions. On this occasion I think I must admit defeat.’

‘You’ve proved nothing, true,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘But please answer me frankly, Mrs. Marchmont: from what you have learned so far, do you believe he did it?’

Angela hesitated.

‘I think there’s a good chance he didn’t,’ she said slowly at last. ‘But if you want my honest opinion I’d say it would be better to leave it now, after all this time. There’s simply no way of proving what happened. I suppose I could try and track down every single servant who was in the house eleven years ago, but even then what good would it do? The police spoke to them at the time. None of them was in that part of the house when Selina died—or at least, none of them saw anything.’

Here she frowned, as an errant thought flitted into her head. What was it? Something Colonel Dempster had said, perhaps?

‘No,’ said Gilverson. ‘I agree that would be a waste of your time, and I shouldn’t dream of asking you to do it.’ Here he paused, and seemed to be thinking. ‘It has, however, just occurred to me that there is a person I forgot to mention when we spoke initially about the case. She was a friend of the family, and was living in Denborough at the time, and I wonder whether she might be able to tell you something—always assuming she is still there.’

Angela looked up and found him gazing at her speculatively. It was an expression she had often seen on the face of Edgar Valencourt, and it had invariably meant he was up to something. A wave of suspicion washed over her.

‘Who is she?’ she said.

‘She is a French lady by the name of Mme. Charbonnet,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘She was a young widow who had been a friend of the de Lisles in Rheims. When they came to Kent she followed them not long afterwards and moved into a cottage in the area.’

There was a pause as they regarded one another.

‘A friend of the family, you say?’ said Angela. ‘The whole family, do you mean?’

‘Well, perhaps more a particular friend of Roger’s,’ said Mr. Gilverson carefully.

‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘And you believe she may know something about the murder?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘I cannot tell. She was not in the house at the time, but it might be worth asking her, don’t you think?’

Angela was becoming increasingly wary. She could not quite say why, but she sensed deception.

‘Why did you not mention this Mme. Charbonnet before?’ she said. ‘Had I known about her I might have tried to find her when I went to Denborough.’

‘To be perfectly truthful, I had forgotten all about her until now,’ said Mr. Gilverson.

‘Was she questioned after the murder?’ said Angela.

‘I do not believe so,’ said Mr. Gilverson. He coughed. ‘She was not exactly on visiting terms at Greystone, and indeed her presence in Denborough was not officially acknowledged by the family, if you understand my meaning.’

‘I believe I do,’ said Angela.

‘Since she was not in the house at the time, there was no reason for her to be brought into the thing at all, but as I say, she knew the family, and if she is still living in the town it is possible that she may be able to tell you something that the police missed.’

Angela was beginning to feel some irritation, for she was almost certain she had not been told the whole truth. She did not believe for a second Mr. Gilverson’s story that he had only now remembered the existence of Mme. Charbonnet. She was intimately connected with the de Lisles, so why had he not mentioned her before? The relief Angela had felt only moments earlier at the idea of retiring from the case now dissipated, and her heart sank at the prospect of another trip to Denborough in search of this woman, who had presumably been Roger de Lisle’s mistress. But what could Mme. Charbonnet tell her? Since she had evidently been maintained discreetly in a separate establishment she would not have been present at Greystone Chase when Selina de Lisle died, so could not be counted as a witness. What, then, was the use in speaking to her? And how was Angela meant to approach her? It was a distasteful task altogether.