There seemed to be no answer to that, but Lady Adeline would surely want to know why he had died in such mysterious circumstances. And for mysterious circumstances I read Edgar and Beatrice Worth.
I had an idea that I put to Peter. There were no marks on him, apart from that head injury, so carefully explained away. For a body to be washed ashore implies a boat of some kind.
‘Did the Vantrys have a sailing boat?’ I asked Peter.
‘They might have had at one time, but I don’t think they were ever keen sailors at any period and any sailing craft had probably been abandoned long before the present generation – or the takeover by the Worths.’
Going right back to our first encounter with Quintin and putting the links together, I said: ‘I think he was on his way to see Lady Adeline when Sadie and I met him on the rhododendron drive at the end of our tour of the house. He was in a mighty hurry and for some reason anxious not to be seen.’
‘Perhaps he wanted to surprise them.’
‘After all those years, that’s for sure!’ was my comment. ‘More likely he just wanted to take a quiet look around and see what changes there had been in his absence and whether they were significant. Anyway, we can conclude he didn’t see Adeline on that visit, otherwise why would he have been waiting outside the hotel, the day I saw him standing by the pony cart, while the Worths were having lunch in the restaurant? There was something furtive about his behaviour, secretive and anxious – he didn’t want to publicise his visit, otherwise he would have been having lunch with them inside.’
Peter had no comment and I continued: ‘My guess is that he was there waiting when they came out. They must have got a surprise, a shock more likely, so they bundled him into the pony cart and took him back with them, ostensibly to meet Adeline.’
‘And what happened then, do you think? Did she turn him away?’
‘No. the last thing they wanted was for this unexpected arrival, the estranged husband whose presence had been rumoured over the years, to turn up and put to an end their settled existence. They must have been praying that it would never happen, that he was out of Adeline’s life for ever. Now here he was, what they most dreaded. I don’t think they ever intended the two should meet again. They had to do some quick thinking as to how they would keep him safely away – before they had a chance to meet.’
Peter nodded slowly. ‘Obviously they had to dispose of him – at Vantry, immediately after that arrival in the pony cart, while he was waiting to meet Lady Adeline.’
I thought for a moment. ‘There was only one safe way, quick, neat and tidy. And that was poison.’
Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘But that wouldn’t account for the blow to his head.’
‘Agreed. But let’s presume that, in his case, there was an argument, a struggle and a blunt instrument was used. Possibly not intended to kill him. Poison is less detectable. And always available on big estates, for rats and other vermin.’
I remembered something else. ‘Vantry has a small private garden – tourists are warned not to go into it – and among those rare exotic and poisonous plants, there are no doubt some from abroad that can guarantee sudden extinction of life and be undetectable to the local doctor signing a death certificate.’
‘We should take a look for them,’ said Peter firmly. ‘Perhaps something that could be slipped into a drink or a cup of tea.’
I smiled grimly. ‘Indeed. I was offered one myself. But we’d be wasting our time: it’s probably a secret recipe handed down from past unscrupulous members of the family.’
‘You make them sound like the Borgias.’
‘If I’m right, I’m beginning to think that they might have worthy successors in Edgar and Beatrice. Well, let’s assume that the poison worked, they now have a dead man on their hands and they don’t want him to be found within miles of Vantry. So how do they get him away?’
Peter thought about that. ‘Somewhere like Kames Bay? It’s quite a distance. So, they put the body in the carriage when it was dark, late at night or in the early hours when there isn’t likely to be anyone around, and dump it in the sea hoping that it would be washed away and Lady Adeline’s estranged husband would be lost for ever.’
‘They were in a hurry and they removed all means of identification – such as wallet and watch – as it had to look like an accident, that he had fallen in the water. The only identifying thing they couldn’t remove without cutting off his finger was the signet ring, worn for years, so they had to take a chance on that.’
‘What they hadn’t taken into account, either, was the tidal water, twice a day, and instead of being washed out to sea he was washed back ashore,’ Peter said grimly.
‘Who drove the carriage?’ I said. ‘Was Angus involved, I wonder?’
‘I imagine Edgar could manage on his own. I expect he could drive if needed, although they normally used the pony and trap apart from special occasions.’ Peter shook his head. ‘I think it is unlikely that they wanted even the faithful servant to know they had killed Quintin.’
‘And where was Lady Adeline in all this?’
‘I don’t think she ever knew about his visit. They had to make sure she never met him. That was the only way,’ Peter said. ‘We know she’s too frail to roam about, cannot go up and down stairs without assistance and rarely even leaves her room.’ He paused. ‘It’s reasonable to believe that the Worths have sleeping powders with the medicines they collect from the pharmacy here each month.’
‘So we can presume she was given a heartier dose than usual, drugged in fact, until the deed was done.’
We were silent for a moment.
‘What happens next?’ I asked. ‘We know Quintin’s body got washed ashore instead of out to sea as the Worths hoped. That’s the first major flaw in their plan – that Quintin has been found and identified, thanks to the help of the jeweller, although Edgar claims that he can recognise him from family photographs at Vantry. After they have formally identified the body, the official channels will be notified and the case closed. All that will remain is for the funeral to be arranged.’
‘Will he be eligible for the Vantry vault with his ancestors?’
Peter shook his head. ‘There isn’t one. It was lost, destroyed long ago under the rubble of the old castle and since the present mansion was built they have been interred in the local kirkyard. As her ladyship’s second marriage and its humiliations were rather hushed up, with Quintin portrayed in the public eye as a ne’er-do-well, no less than a fortune-hunter, I don’t expect there will be many mourners – and I imagine there is little chance of her appearing as the grieving widow at the graveside.’
I was glad Peter knew so much about the Vantrys, but I was back to the beginning, the project in hand. ‘So what do we do now, how do we prove that Quintin was murdered, as we both believe?’
Peter shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know, perhaps it would be better for everyone concerned if we didn’t open this particular can of worms. You can go back to Edinburgh in a couple of days, pretend it was all a mistake, accept the procurator’s verdict of accidental death and we tell ourselves that these are just theories, after all.’
That seemed the right and proper procedure from Peter’s point of view, a safe option. After all, he was just a local policeman and nobody, particularly Inspector Rudd, so anxious for a crimeless existence, would thank him for raising the dust on the name of Vantry.
It was different for me, though, and I had already decided I could go ahead without him, do what I could by putting together my fragments of evidence before I returned to Edinburgh.
I said I might stay around for a few days longer. Peter gave me a hard look when I told him that I’d need to telephone Jack and let him know of my intentions, that there were one or two things to settle for Sadie who was staying in Bute. It was a lame excuse and I knew it.
‘You will let me know if I can help, won’t you, if there is anything I can do?’ said Peter and I knew that it wasn’t helping Sadie
he was referring to. He had a pretty good idea of what I was up to but he wasn’t going to put a foot wrong if he could help it. After all, as aforesaid, he lived here and he had his own future to think of.
Who could blame him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I hadn’t given much thought to the deceased Wilfred Godwin. Back at the hotel the undertakers had been busy and removed the body while Harry and Gerald had taken matters in hand, considering a funeral that was not going to be a wake or a memorial celebration. Godwin had not been popular, and at the news of his decease, there now emerged through the hotel’s swing doors a line-up of tradesmen gathering in reception, all waving papers indicating that sums of money had been owed to them. This was yet another headache for Harry and Gerald, particularly the latter who was in charge of the hotel’s bookkeeping.
The funeral would be arranged as speedily as possible. It seemed likely that the local minister was in for a busy day with two funerals and neither of the deceased regarded as his parishioners, never – if ever – having set foot in his church.
The Vantrys had their own chapel, rarely used, although at one time in their history they had their own priest. Lady Vantry had appeared in the town church on ceremonial occasions before her accident but she and Quintin had chosen to be married secretly while on holiday from Bute those many years ago.
I had a telephone conversation with Jack. His rank as chief inspector had entitled him to that rare extravagance of a telephone installed at Solomon’s Tower. It was just temporary at the moment but an exciting event, nevertheless.
He was a little impatient with the information that I would be staying a few days longer but I almost heard his jaw drop floorwards when I imparted the news that Sadie was to stay on at The Heights as housekeeper.
‘What on earth brought that about?’ he demanded. ‘I wouldn’t have thought she had the experience needed for a great hotel.’
‘She’s formed an association with the young manager, Harry Godwin.’
‘And what kind of an association would that be?’ my husband demanded suspiciously, although I could hear his imagination running riot.
‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get home,’ I said quickly.
Jack wasn’t to be put off. He was curious, as he might well be remembering our entirely efficient and reliable Sadie Brook. ‘Surely this is all very sudden?’
‘Yes, it is. But remember, she used to live here as a child,’ was my inadequate response. ‘I’ll explain when I see you,’ I repeated.
The other reason I needed to stay was one I had no intention of going into or even hinting at, namely that I was now vastly interested in two mysterious deaths and two funerals. If I even mentioned funerals, which implied dead bodies, Jack would immediately leap to the conclusion, quite correctly, that I was up to my old tricks again. That here was some crime involved and that I couldn’t bring myself to let well alone, come home and leave these particular mysteries to the local police to deal with. He knew me too well and his prediction about Bute had been right.
I learnt in that brief talk that the Macmerry parents were enjoying their holiday without me and Jack said he believed that he would have no difficulty in persuading his mother to stay until I returned. She had taken a great fancy to Solomon’s Tower and enjoyed the novelty of shopping in Edinburgh.
Yes, of course, we would definitely need a new housekeeper and he would get his mother to deal with that problem. Having employed seasonal servants from time to time on the farm, he was sure – although I certainly was not – that she was the right person to find someone to replace Sadie.
I heard Meg at his side. She wanted a word with Mam. A quick one, then, said her father. We were both emotional, both missed each other – and did I miss Thane too? Then to my surprise Jess wanted a word. She had never spoken on one of these before, not in her whole life, and couldn’t resist the temptation. Although naturally suspicious, and not at all sure that she couldn’t be seen as well as heard, she put on what Jack called her ‘Sunday voice’ and pretended there were a couple of domestic issues.
Andrew was in the background, his good humour a steady balance keeping everything in order. He sent his love. Somewhere close at hand, Thane barked as if he wanted a word too.
The line went dead. It was Thane’s bark that did it. I suddenly wanted to be away from Bute. I had had enough of Sadie and her problems, now apparently solved by Harry Godwin. Enough of the Worths and Lady Adeline and whatever lay behind those sinister goings-on at Vantry; I was weary of those elaborate theories, constructed by Peter and myself, on what the procurator fiscal had dismissed as the accidental drowning of Quintin Vantry Elder. As for Uncle Godwin falling downstairs in the middle of the night, drunk as usual and on his way for another illicit bottle from the wine cellar, I had let myself be persuaded that this was no coincidence, that it related to the unfortunate case of Sarah Vantry, murderess not-proven, and I was talking myself – with Peter Clovis’s assistance – into solving two crimes that weren’t crimes at all.
Replacing the telephone and listening to the whirring silence, I was overwhelmed with frantic longing and homesickness to be back in the Tower, safe with the family. At that moment, I was ready to seize my suitcase and bolt down to the quay for the first available ferry.
I hardly heard Sadie approach. I looked up and she was smiling, looking absurdly happy and excited. ‘Would you like to see my new place?’
I nodded, vaguely having wondered with the new arrangement whether she would be moving out of her maid’s bedroom and into the private suite of the hotel where Harry and Gerald lived. I had never been invited there and when rather shyly she said that she would be moving her things there right away, I asked did she want help. Yes, she said eagerly, she was most anxious for me to see and approve of where she would be staying.
I followed her upstairs where she opened the door leading to the private apartments, large, airy and pleasantly furnished.
Gerald was writing at a desk by the window of the elegant sitting room overlooking the river. He greeted our arrival with a smile.
There were two bedrooms, one each for Harry and Gerald. She ushered me into the larger of the two with its handsome four-poster bed. When I admired it, she whispered, a little shyly and embarrassed, like a new bride: ‘A lot more comfortable than that single bed in my room next to you.’
Gerald tapped on the door. ‘Anything you need, Sadie – just ask.’
He did not seem put out by the fact that she would be sharing this bachelor apartment, nor did she by the fact that she would be sharing it not only with her lover but with his best friend.
Later she said to me, as if aware of what I had been thinking: ‘Gerald is quite happy about Harry and me, but it might be a little inconvenient and Harry says he has offered to go back to the Clovises. There is plenty of room for him there. It’s still his family home, after all, and his mother will be delighted.’
Sadie didn’t need me. I could have left then and there on the next ferry, back at Solomon’s Tower in time to sleep in my own bed tomorrow night, and in need of comfort and consolation after my adventure, with Jack’s head on the pillow beside me. It was wonderfully tempting but even as I went back to my room, pulled out a suitcase and put it on the bed, a cautionary voice whispered in my ear: ‘You won’t be happy, you know you won’t. You’ll regret this. You’re running away.’
There was no escaping from the truth. I slammed the suitcase shut, thrust it back in the cupboard. I had two mysteries to solve. With the time in hand, it sounded an impossible challenge but suddenly my feet were firmly on familiar ground. I was a lady investigator, a detective and I was in business again.
The next moment, I had my journal – intended originally as a pleasant holiday record of Bute – with all its details, open on the desk before me. I was making notes, working on the theory that had been slithering away, lurking darkly at the back of my mind, taking uncertain shape like an itch sent to plague me and would not give me rest o
r let me alone until I had given it due recognition.
All I knew was that there was an answer and I had to find it still hidden at the centre of the labyrinth I called my mind, with all its uncertain paths, each holding such promise and leading nowhere. Success consisted of finding the right path by going over in careful detail every encounter I had had with the Worths, both at the hotel and at Vantry, positioning them carefully like puppets on a stage. For that reason, I needed counters labelled Edgar, Beatrice and Lady Adeline.
One, soon after Sadie and I arrived, that first brief introduction to the Worths in the hotel restaurant, as they waited with poorly concealed anxiety for their dinner guest, an important, distinguished-looking gentleman (their lawyer, perhaps?). Arranging the counters, Edgar and Beatrice, without Lady Adeline, on a sheet of paper, I added the Ladies’ meeting with Beatrice, how she was dressed etc., her elegant hands so like Sadie’s, Gran Faro’s mark of breeding.
Two, my first visit to Vantry. With the tourists, conducted by the gardener Angus in the guise of guide. The particular interest given to the notorious staircase while Sadie kept well to the background, afraid of being recognised as Sarah Vantry by Edgar seated in state, writing at the library table and briefly acknowledging the tourists who were rewarded outside by a glimpse of Lady Adeline walking in the grounds with her stick. A remembered picture of her struggle with the veiled bonnet in the breeze and meeting the fugitive on the rhododendron drive, later identified as Mr QVE, who had met an untimely end. I arranged counters, Edgar and Lady Adeline, no Beatrice this time.
Three, James Clovis’s birthday party. My first meeting with Lady Adeline seated regally in an armchair. Told this was one of her rare appearances in public, heavily swathed and looking distinctly frail with veils and stick, her elegant hand extended as she recalled Inspector Faro’s visit to Vantry and how she was delighted to meet his daughter, the authoress. I remember thinking that was quite a speech, her voice perhaps throaty with age, hardly above a whisper while Edgar, regarding her anxiously, bitten fingernails nervously clutching a glass of champagne, reminded her of our meeting at the hotel and added rather loudly that the carriage was waiting. This was a brief visit by an honoured guest and Beatrice, suffering from one of her migraines, would be sorry to have missed meeting the authoress as she is a keen reader. Counters for Edgar and Lady Adeline, no Beatrice again.
Murder Lies Waiting Page 21