The Winds of Change (18 page)

She turned. ‘Oh, hal-lo.’ These horsey types always seemed to lean on the ‘e’ until it became an ‘ah.’

‘It’s Mr.–’

‘Plant. Melrose Plant. I’m doing that bit of work for Declan Scott.’

She shielded her eyes as if from his bright self and said, ‘What brings you to St. Austell?’

Well, good grief, it wasn’t exactly Aruba, was it? All manner of people were spilling into St. Austell. But she seemed to want to make something of it merely by virtue of her presence here.

‘Supplies. I’ve just been buying fertilizer at the shop down there.’ He nodded in the direction from which he’d come.

‘Fertilizer?’

‘Yes. Your garden supply shop is well stocked with the stuff.’

‘It is?’

‘I began an interest in turf and flowering mead when I was at Oxford.’

‘Oxford?’

She was having a hard time taking anything in, wasn’t she? ‘I read medieval history there and turfing and enameled mead; well, I had always wanted to do that at Ardry End.’

‘Ardry End?’ Her eyes lit up.

‘Yes, my home. It’s been in the family for – look, would you care for a drink (pointing toward the pub) or a cup of tea (pointing toward the tearoom)?’ That he had kindled an interest in himself and fanned the sparks with Ardry End was clear.

‘Why... yes, that would be pleasant. Tea, I think.’ Probably one of those women who thought drinking in pubs was a man’s job and felt she would be better complemented by flower-bedecked cushions and cakes and scones.

It was crowded, but two women were putting on their coats and Melrose nabbed the table they were leaving. The floor was uneven (de rigueur for a tearoom), causing the table to rock slightly.

Instead of tablecloths, there were paper place mats, but one could hardly expect a total adherence to graciousness in these pushy times.

A thin woman in her sixties with lips that seemed permanently pursed in disapproval took their order for tea and toasted tea cakes, all – Melrose was sure – straight out of the bag and the packet.

‘Tell me more,’ said Hermione, leaning toward him, all eyes and ears.

Melrose had forgotten what he’d been telling her less of.

‘About what?’

‘Your family seat. It must be lovely. Is it in Cornwall?’

‘No. In Northamptonshire.’

‘Oh.’

He noted the disappointment. Was that because Northamptonshire was not a destination county? Or was it the distance from Cornwall? ‘The country around there is beautiful. Not as beautiful as Yorkshire. There’s a place for you! The North York Moors.’ Well, that was a bit wide, but it was a way into murder. ‘Yes, it’s too bad Yorkshire has so many bad associations for us, isn’t it?’

‘Pardon?’ She looked vacant.

He had segued quite smoothly to the subject of murder. ‘You know–the Yorkshire Ripper, the Moors Murderers.’ The tea and cakes had arrived. ‘Th’nk you,’ said the purselipped matron as she put the cups and plates down.

Hell, did she have to bust in on the murder? Now he’d have to rev the subject up again, for he had decided Hermione had a fifteen-second attention span.

‘This looks lovely,’ she said, pouring tea.

This was clearly her favorite word. ‘Urn. One wonders about crime these days.’

‘Why?’ She operated on her tea cake with a surgical precision.

Why? He’d sooner talk to Lulu. ‘Well, we have so much more of it.’

She smiled and ate her tea cake. ‘I expect it’s better not to think about it, don’t you?’

‘No, actually. I mean, you surely must be curious about this murdered woman at Angel Gate ?’

‘That was most peculiar. This is quite nice,’ she said of the tea cake.

The tea cake was receiving as much attention as the murder. It would have been deep air, the heaving speech of air... Melrose was suddenly reminded of Wallace Stevens’s poem. He decided he was sitting across the table from the heaving speech of air. Hermione could hardly be in the running for Declan Scott.

He felt in this one-sided conversation as if he were dogsledding, pulled along by a laconic pack of huskies. He said, ‘It’s quite dreadful what Mr. Scott has had to suffer. His wife dead, the daughter abducted. I don’t see how he manages to keep his balance.’ Her little finger was cocked above her teacup as she sipped.

‘That was awful! Poor Declan.’

He waited. When she said no more, Melrose heaved a little air himself and whipped the huskies on. ‘It must have been dreadful for the child’s mother, too. I mean to think she should have been watching –’

In an uncharacteristic little outburst, Hermione said, chinking the teacup back in its saucer, ‘She should have been, shouldn’t she? Well, Mary was never the most careful person. She was so absentminded.’

Absentmindedness would hardly cover the situation. ‘But he didn’t blame her, did he? And, of course, the little girl was his stepdaughter, not his daughter.’ That could have been better put, but it probably made no difference with Hermione.

She chewed and thought this over. ‘I don’t think Declan blamed Mary, no, but you know one does want someone to blame.’
 

Drily, Melrose said, ‘I should think the kidnapper might be good for a start.’ She missed the sarcasm. He went on. ‘There must have been a lot of speculation. I mean as to why the child was taken?’

‘Declan’s got mountains of money, of course.’

‘But there was never a ransom demand.’

‘That was peculiar. There was some talk about its being done for revenge, but I can’t credit that.’

‘Why would anyone want revenge? Where did that idea come from?’

‘The Hardcastle girl.’

Melrose was for once in this conversation taken aback. ‘Why would this Hardcastle girl want revenge ?’

Hermione shook’her head. ‘No, no. Elsie Hardcastle was the victim.’ She went on sipping her tea.

Melrose nearly reached over and took the cup. At last, a morsel of information, although it sounded as if it might be more than just a morsel – and then she stopped. ‘What... how was she a victim? Of what?’

‘Why, Mary Scott. You see, it was raining and the traffic light was malfunctioning. This was in Meva. It was several months before Flora’s disappearance.’

God, at last she was saying something, but excising the bits that would have made clear what she was talking about. ‘Back up for a moment. First of all, where’s Meva?’

‘Mevagissey, a fishing village not far from Heligan. It was dead dark and the light wouldn’t change. Mary had no choice but to go through it, finally. Elsie was crossing the street and had her umbrella up. Mary’ – Hermione shrugged – ‘hit her. Worse, though, Mary didn’t stop. It was a hit-and-run. But she managed to make the coroner believe that she honestly thought she’d hit something in the road. She didn’t think for a minute it was a person. It was raining so hard, coming down in torrents, and she thought that affected her ability to judge. And everyone knows that narrow street that goes down through the village is hell to drive in the best of circumstances.’

‘Well, she didn’t hit Elsie squarely on, and she certainly didn’t run over her. When she got back to Angel Gate, she was extremely upset and she told Declan she was afraid she’d hit either an animal or a person. Immediately, he called the police and gave them the information. So it was certainly not a hit-and-run, I mean, not in the real sense of one. The coroner was surprised that the blow had, actually, killed the girl.’

‘She was charged, though?’

‘Yes. But the coroner’s court didn’t convict her.’ Hermione paused. ‘Some people thought it was her husband’s money that saved her, as much as the story she told. I’m rather surprised you haven’t heard this. Declan told me you’re a friend of that Scotland Yard superintendent.’ She smiled.

Surely, he was not now about to find that Hermione Hobbs was clever, was he? An altogether different cup of tea?

Hermione went on. ‘You can imagine how the Hardcastles felt when Mary got off.’

‘The court found her innocent?’

‘Yes. The Hardcastles, the father and mother, were pretty restrained about the outcome. It certainly was a dreadful accident, and Mary was so torn up, well, it was hard to hate her.’ If he’d been the parent, Melrose wouldn’t find it hard to hate her or kill her. Or worse.

‘It’s quite possible that Declan –’ She stopped and fiddled nervously with her spoon.

‘Declan?’

‘I shouldn’t say anything.’

Oh, do, dear lady, and I’ll buy you another pot of tea, another plate of scones, all the stuff in the window you’ve been coveting. Hell, I’ll buy you the tearoom! You’ve finally come through! ‘What shouldn’t you say?’

Now she was busy pleating her paper napkin.

‘More tea!’ said Melrose, and motioned to the proprietress, who sulked over.

Hermione laughed a little. ‘Oh, well, if you –’

Melrose asked the woman for another pot of tea and a selection of the cakes in the window.

The woman picked up the empty tea-muffin plate, went to the window and plopped four of the cakes on the plate and returned it to the table. She picked up the pot and moved off.

‘She does everything with so much élan, doesn’t she? Now, you were saying about Declan Scott–?’

She still looked doubtful.

Don’t dumb out on me now, for God’s sakes. ‘You were about to say that Declan Scott could have done something with relation to the Hardcastles.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t know if I should say it, but Declan might have given the Hardcastles a large sum of money not to make a fuss.’ A ‘fuss.’ Your child is killed and the most Hermione could come up with was ‘fuss.’ This paying off, if he had, sounded coldblooded not so much of Scott, but of the Hardcastles. Melrose wondered how much money had changed hands.

He wondered if Jury knew about this accident. A few months between Elsie’s death and Flora’s disappearance might have police connecting the two. And Declan must have been under the impression that the Hardcastles were satisfied–broken-hearted, but satisfied – that Mary Scott really hadn’t known what she’d done.

And Scott had, after all, called the police; they’d admitted she’d done it.

Back with a fresh pot of tea, their churlish server deposited it on the table and then took herself off.

Hermione said, ‘Police questioned people, Mary’s friends. I thought they might want to establish something about her character. The police who questioned me wanted to know what sort of person Mary Scott was and as to her character. I said it was unimpeachable. I didn’t mention her absentmindedness, the way she sometimes walked around with her head in a cloud. I was afraid that would make them wonder whether she’d been paying attention to the road. And if it was anyone’s fault, it was the town’s, I think. The light had been stuck that way for hours; several people attested to that. Well, it seemed to me it was down to them, to the town – the police or someone.’

‘When Flora Scott disappeared, was there any talk about the Hardcastles’ possibly being behind it?’

She frowned. ‘Well, I expect so. But the Hardcastles are such an unassuming couple. I could not begin to imagine they might have been lying in wait for an opportunity to harm the Scotts. That’s diabolical, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, but then people can be diabolical.’

‘Well, there’s the other child. A son. Elsie wasn’t the one and only.’

So the one wouldn’t be missed so much? Parents didn’t divvy up their love. Melrose thought they loved each of their children completely. If one died it was not a half of the whole who died; it was the whole. He had no experience in this, but he imagined that’s how it was. He wondered if Hermione had children – probably not.

‘Then who might have done it? I imagine you asked yourself this.’

Hermione gave this what she had of her share of serious thought. ‘A stranger, it must have been. Although I hate to even think it – a pedophile, perhaps? Or a thwarted woman, one who couldn’t have children. Or what about the murdered woman?’

 
Surprised, Melrose looked up. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘I don’t know, perhaps just because the two seem related.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, my goodness. We’ve been sitting here over an hour. I really must be getting on home.’

Melrose signaled the proprietress again. ‘Shall I drop you off? I’d be glad to.’

‘Thanks, but I have my little Morris Minor. You should see it. They’re delightful cars.’

People were always so proud of their Morris Minors, they always seemed to want to introduce them to whomever they were talking to. ‘I’ve enjoyed this discussion very much,’ said Melrose.

‘I, too. And thank you for the tea.’

The proprietress was doing double time at the cash register (no computers here!), and Melrose wondered if she was also cook and cleaner-up.

They thanked each other again and walked off to their separate car parks.

20

The ground floor of Angel Gate was a blaze of light. As he got out of his car, Melrose wondered if Declan Scott was throwing a party.

He had taken the pebble path around the side of the house and was on his way to the cottage when Lulu appeared.