I will write much and often, with gladness in my heart, content that we shall both have adventures and mend our fortunes. I am confident I will return with pockets full of sovereigns and a name as a man of invention – or, more modestly, as a man of practical ability and good intent. God bless you, my beloved wife. I think of you each and every day. I dearly miss you and our two babes.
This year of absence will set us up for life, and is but a small sacrifice for our future. We will live out our days at Lanscombe, happy as larks with our children about us.
Your ever-loving husband, Randolph.’
The words fell heavy, the silence that followed, even heavier. I’d have killed Sinclair myself after reading that letter. Swift folded it and carefully placed it in his inside pocket.
‘They must have returned for some reason and Sinclair attacked him,’ Swift concluded.
‘And killed him,’ Persi said. ‘Perhaps he lured him here, intending to do so.’
‘Probably,’ Swift replied solemnly. ‘It would be almost impossible to drag a body down those steps.’
‘Yes, and this is a perfect place to leave him hidden,’ I said.
‘It was evil, wasn’t it?’ Persi began.
I reached for her hand and squeezed it.
‘We should go,’ Swift said. ‘It will be growing dark outside.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And we need to bring this to an end.’
Chapter 23
Dusk was gathering, the mist crept back across the lake. Fogg was sitting by the trap door, he rushed to me as we emerged, tail wagging frantically. I picked him up to give him a cuddle.
‘We should close it,’ Swift said.
He was right. It didn’t take long to lower the stone lid and shovel the earth back into the hole. I stamped the turf down, it wasn’t perfectly concealed but it was unlikely anyone would find it in the dying light.
Swift made a fuss about returning the metal detector and closing the workshop, we waited while he did, then we returned to the house with our minds reeling.
‘Ah, sir.’ Greggs was in the St Georges’ kitchen, apron to the fore. ‘Are you partaking of dinner?’
I don’t know where he learns these words. ‘Yes, Greggs, of course we’re partaking.’
‘I thought you may be dining in the neighbouring quarters, sir.’
‘Well, we’re not,’ I told him.
We’d already decided against dinner with Lady Penelope and the family. The knowledge of Randolph’s murder was too disturbing to hide under a cloak of politeness. And, in theory, they should be in mourning for Sinclair.
‘Will there be enough for us all?’ Persi asked.
‘We have baked a chicken pie, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘There is more than sufficient.’
‘Chicken?’ Swift raised his brows. ‘Not one of the chickens in the orchard?’
Greggs looked down at Fogg. ‘I’m afraid there was an unfortunate incident earlier, sir.’
‘Ah, it’s been a day for bodies,’ I remarked. ‘We’ll see you later, old chap.’
I made for the stairs, Swift and Persi followed and we all took chairs around the fireside in my bedroom. Swift produced the flask of Braeburn malt and passed it round. I thought he must have a secret supply, because we’d almost emptied it earlier.
‘I can’t face them,’ Persi stared into the blazing hearth.
‘We can’t tell anyone yet, it must wait until we know who the murderer is.’ Swift was adamant.
I glanced at him, I knew who it was, or I was pretty sure anyway. Everything had pointed toward one suspect, but this had been cleverly devised and why would a clever killer make such a mistake?
‘It’s dreadful, I never thought it would be like this.’ Persi was close to tears.
‘Perhaps you’d like to go home…’ Swift tried some sympathy.
‘No.’ She cut straight across him. ‘We have to see it through.’
Swift took a sip of whisky, ‘Lennox, what do you think?’
‘I think we need dinner.’
The gong rang downstairs as I spoke and we all rose as one. A hearty chicken pie was just the thing for troubled minds.
Confronting the St Georges was another cause of perturbation, and we struggled to find light words while knowing their son’s body lay in the tomb. We did our best but said our goodnights as soon as was polite.
‘Persi,’ I called softly as we left the kitchen.
‘Yes?’ She turned towards me.
I took her hand and led her through the dusty corridor between the old wing and new house. ‘Lady Penelope must call the police. We need Scotland Yard here as early as possible in the morning.’
‘I’ll persuade her, don’t worry.’ She gazed up at me, her eyes dark under the shadows cast by the feeble lightbulb above us. ‘Do you know who’s done this?’
I nodded, not wanting to answer questions. ‘It’s going to be traumatic. I don’t think you should be there when…’
She cut in, ‘Lennox, I’ll be there.’
I wasn’t convinced, nor was I sure if our blossoming relationship would survive the storm of emotion. ‘It’s going to hurt your family, Persi.’
‘Heathcliff,’ she whispered and put her finger on my lips.
I sighed and took her in my arms.
‘Lennox?’ Swift came through the door, then broke into an apology. ‘Oh, erm, sorry.’
Persi giggled. I let her go, although she remained close to me.
‘What?’ I demanded.
‘I… erm, should I go…?’ He dithered by the door.
‘Don’t worry,’ Persi told him.
‘Fine, yes, but the thing is, someone must call Scotland Yard. We can’t…’
‘Persi is going to arrange it, aren’t you, old stick?’ I smiled down at her.
‘Yes. Really, I promise.’
‘Right, all in hand then… erm, Goodnight.’ Swift made a retreat.
‘I need to talk to him,’ I told Persi once we were alone again.
She smiled, wrapped her arms around my chest and hugged me tightly. I bent my head and gave her a lingering kiss, then let her go.
‘And, Persi,’ I called out as she went off towards the house.
‘I know, not Heathcliff.’ She laughed.
I watched her leave, then slipped into the old wing and made my way to Swift’s room. He was just settling at his desk, notebook open, pen in hand.
‘Swift, this isn’t going to be easy,’ I said as I sat down.
We argued until late about who did it, why, and how to nail the culprit, then finally turned in for the night. I slept fitfully until the light of dawn slipped between the curtains.
‘Breakfast, sir.’ Greggs appeared with a tray bearing a covered plate and an aroma of fried delights.
Tubbs and Foggy scrambled from among the bedcovers to sniff the air.
‘Excellent, old chap,’ I told him.
‘I perceived an undercurrent of disquiet last evening and thought you may prefer to eat in your room.’ He lifted the silver cover with a flourish. ‘And there are dishes for Mr Tubbs and Mr Fogg.’
‘Chicken, I assume?’
‘Not for Mr Fogg, sir,’ he replied solemnly and left.
I’d barely begun eating when Swift walked in.
‘There are sirens, I heard them coming up the drive.’ He was dressed in suit, hat and overcoat. ‘I’m going out to meet them, you should come.’
‘Why?’ I said as I speared a sausage.
‘Because we’ve carried out an investigation and…’ He was itching to join the police who were probably on the doorstep. ‘Well, we have to tell them what we’ve found.’
‘Drawing room, in one hour,’ I reminded him between mouthfuls. ‘As agreed.’
‘But I thought we should warn them, you know, prepare the ground.’
‘No, let’s stick to the plan, Swift.’
‘Right, fine,’ he said and reached for his belt to tighten it, realised he wasn’t wearing his trench coat, si
ghed and went off.
I looked at my little pet duo, they gazed back; wide eyed, innocent – apart from the chicken killing, that is – and bereft of malice. I Sometimes wish we humans lived lives as uncomplicated as a small fat cat and a happy little dog.
The next hour was spent in making lengthy notes and trying to put my thoughts in cogent order.
Greggs arrived. He was wielding a feather duster. ‘Inspector Swift asked me to remind you of the time, sir.’
‘Spot of housework, old chap?’ I asked, as I pushed my chair back from the desk.
‘Lady Millicent and I are dusting shelves, sir.’
‘You haven’t mentioned the get together in the drawing room, have you?’ I asked as I pulled my jacket on.
‘I have not, sir. Although her ladyship was rather bemused by the police activity in the grounds.’
‘Right, well keep her and Sir Bertram occupied and out of the way.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘And I’ll take Fogg with me.’ I picked him up and put him under my arm.
‘Very well.’ He paused. ‘And may I wish you good luck.’
‘Thank you, Greggs,’ I said and made for the door.
‘Sir,’ Greggs called.
‘What?’
‘The stick,’ he reminded me and retrieved it from the corner.
‘Right.’ I took it from him, gave a cheery wave and cleared off.
It didn’t take long to reach the dusty corridor and enter the palatial splendour that was Lanscombe Park. I strode through the state rooms, where maids and footmen had gathered in small knots at the windows to watch the police searching the grounds outside. I wondered if they’d recovered Sinclair’s body yet.
Mullins was guarding the drawing room doors, he was dressed in butlering garb, I assumed his new position had been sanctioned.
‘Sir.’ He bowed.
‘Mullins.’ I gave him the stick. ‘Look after this, will you.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ He took it with white-gloved hands.
‘And guard the entrance, no-one is to leave until I say so.’
‘We are ready and prepared, sir.’ He stood smartly to attention. There were a number of footmen in the corridor, one of them opened the door for me.
‘Ah, Lennox, there you are.’ Swift was already in the drawing room with a group of police officers, he indicated a tall, dour-looking chap in trench coat and trilby. ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Robert Billings.’
Billings came forward to shake my hand. I put Foggy down in the spirit of co-operation, he raced about barking.
‘Scotland Yard,’ Billings announced.
‘Ashton Steeple,’ I replied.
‘Heathcliff.’ Lady Penelope came to speak to me, she was very pale and looked as though she hadn’t slept at all. ‘I… I think we are ready. I’ve asked everyone to come.’
‘Thank you. Could you sit down, please?’
She hesitated, raising troubled eyes to mine, but then turned away and went to settle in her usual spot by the hearth. The police stood in a group with Swift, they were watching every move.
Persi arrived first. She came straight to me and took my hand. ‘She agreed to everything.’ She nodded towards Lady Penelope.
‘Persi, you mustn’t become involved, old girl, however much it upsets you…’
‘I understand.’ She spoke quietly, her face pale in the sunlight streaming in. She squeezed my hand, then went to sit near the sofas grouped around the fire.
Max arrived next, he glowered at me and went to join his mother. Lydia and Jerome came in together, neither spoke, they sat on a sofa opposite the rest of the family.
Finn was the last to arrive, late as usual. He wore a casual outfit and offered a grin, his jauntiness back in place. He crossed the room to join the others.
A whistle blew beyond the door, a tramping of feet was heard and a dozen bobbies entered and positioned themselves against the walls. Mullins followed and carefully closed the door behind him.
Swift had been in close conversation with Billings. They waited as the troops assembled and found their places, then they came over to join me.
‘Major Lennox,’ Billings began. ‘I’ve got my own way of doing things, I’m a man of method and procedure. Swift has convinced me you know what you’re about.’ He leaned forward until I could see the broken veins on his nose. ‘Now, he’d better be right, and you’d better finger this perpetrator, or I’ll have both of you up for wasting my time.’
I took a long breath and let it out. ‘Well, I’ll get on with it then.’
‘Ladies and Gentlemen.’ Swift stepped in front of the fireplace. ‘I must caution you all that this is a police enquiry, what you say and do can be used against you.’ He turned to me. ‘Lennox.’
It was beginning to feel like theatre. I went to stand in front of the fire as he moved aside. Fogg came to sit at my feet with his tongue hanging out, Persi rushed over to pick him up and took him back to sit on her lap.
‘Sinclair is dead, murdered,’ I began, then looked over at Billings. ‘Has he been removed?’
‘He has,’ the chief inspector replied cautiously.
‘Why was he murdered?’ I asked.
I wasn’t expecting an answer, and didn’t get one.
I took a few paces across the fireplace. ‘His was the third murder within a week. The first was Monroe, his death was made to look like an accident.’ I took a breath. ‘Monroe was a professional driver, he was Lord Sinclair’s chauffeur and bodyguard, he was trained to react to danger. And that’s exactly what he did on the humpback bridge crossing the ravine.’
I nodded to Mullins who marched in smart style across the room. He handed me the stick, saluted and returned to his post.
The stick was grubby with homemade fingerprint powder and utterly unimpressive, but I held it up anyway. ‘Monroe drove at speed into the Dell. It’s a place full of shadows and last Sunday, it was wet from a downpour. Monroe would have had his car lamps switched on. As he crossed the bridge, his headlights suddenly fell onto a figure almost directly in front of him. This figure was so close it must have seemed impossible to avoid, but Monroe tried, he swerved to prevent an horrific collision.’ Dubious silence met my explanation.
‘Billings, could I borrow your coat?’ I asked him.
‘What?’ the man grunted.
I held out my hand. He grumbled as he shrugged himself out of his pale-hued trench coat.
‘Someone had placed a coat on the ends of this stick.’ I fitted the ‘y’-branched end into the shoulders of Billings’ coat and held it aloft. ‘They stood behind the wall of the bridge and waved it just as Monroe cleared the brow. He had a split second to react and his instincts cost him his life.’
‘Can you prove this?’ Billings asked sharply.
‘No,’ I handed him his coat back, still on the stick. He wasn’t impressed.
‘The branch had come from the sweet chestnut trees near the old Church.’ I mentioned. ‘The murder took place at five thirty last Sunday evening. The police enquiry established that none of the servants were absent long enough to go to the Dell and back.’ I paused to look at some of the bobbies, one of them nodded to me, I realised he was the local sergeant.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘We interviewed them about it.’
‘Not the family?’
The Sergeant’s cheeks reddened. ‘It was believed to be an accident, and it was made clear that His Lordship didn’t want us bothering them.’
‘One of the people seated around the fire here caused Monroe’s death,’ I said. ‘And then killed twice more.’
A hiss of outrage followed that statement.
‘Chief inspector,’ Jerome stood up and addressed Billings. ‘I must protest, Major Lennox is utterly unqualified to make these statements.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Billings rapped his reply.
Jerome looked affronted and sat down again. He was dressed as usual in a tailored city suit. Lydia was si
tting close to him; she was pretty in blue.
I carried on. ‘Monroe was Sinclair’s bodyguard, he kept him safe from harm. Once he was removed, the murderer could stalk the next target.’
‘But the accident to Monroe might have merely injured him,’ Max cut in. ‘Your so-called murder was hardly precise.’
‘An injury would have worked just as well,’ Swift answered. ‘He didn’t have to die.’
‘No, perhaps not.’ I walked in front of the fire again. ‘Trent had a soldier’s mind. He served to protect, just as Monroe had done, and he probably saw the danger to his employer more clearly than Sinclair himself. He was killed for the same reason as Monroe, to clear the way to Sinclair.’
‘What about the gun?’ Lydia called out.
I wasn’t inclined to be diverted, but they were all staring at me. ‘You know it was taken from Randolph’s room.’
‘Yes, but who did it?’ Lady Penelope asked.
‘The person who murdered him,’ I replied and went to the sideboard for a tumbler of water. Mullins poured it and I drained the glass.
‘You all know how Trent died,’ I carried on. ‘Electrocuted in the fuse room. It was a cleverly devised death, a broken lamp to trip the fuse, a puddle of water on the floor and a single strip of copper jammed into the live cable. It was positioned to run alongside the handle of the knife switch, Trent died the instant he touched it.’
‘Do you have the copper strip?’ Billings cut in.
Swift extracted it from his inside pocket and handed it over.
There were a few gasps of surprise in the room.
‘The killer had hoped to reach the fuse room ahead of Swift or me.’ I recalled the jostling scramble downstairs and into the dark corridor where Trent lay dead. ‘They failed. We found it and removed it. It’s probable the killer returned to try to retrieve it in the night.’
‘There were guards at the entrance to the passageway,’ Jerome called out. ‘They stayed up all night.’
The Tomb of the Chatelaine: A 1920s Country House Murder Mystery (Heathcliff Lennox Book 6) Page 21