‘Yes. I am somewhat surprised,’ commented Rose, giving her husband a look, ‘that Miss Belmore saw fit to walk out with him.’
‘Good heavens, yes!’ exclaimed Cedric, tucking in to his bacon and eggs. ‘I never knew they were on such intimate terms. Hardly spoke to each other during the rehearsals, as I recall. Not that they would have had much opportunity. Miss Quail was awful strict about us talking in the wings, you know, and I suppose I didn’t attend very many rehearsals myself. Still, I can’t imagine what a girl like Miriam would see in the likes of a man like Cuffe.’
‘Can’t you?’ said Rose, with a slight edge to her voice. ‘I thought he was rather good-looking myself, in a majestic sort of a way, when I saw him on the stage. Is he very rich, do you know?’
‘Well, I don’t think he’s short of a bob or two. He contributed a great deal of money to the repair of the church roof last year. His folk live in the colonies; I remember him telling me once. He made his money mining for diamonds.’ The young earl looked up and between mouthfuls said: ‘It had always been a wish of his to retire to an English country village, so Miss Quail told me, though he can’t be more than forty-five or so, if he’s a day. Apparently, the African climate didn’t much suit him, not with his fair colouring.’
‘Well, I suppose there is nothing to stop Miss Belmore from marrying him now, what with her rival out of the way, so to speak.’
‘Rose!’ exclaimed Cedric, looking up at his wife sharply. ‘What a thing to say! Next, you’ll be telling me that you think Miriam poisoned Ursula.’
‘Well, she certainly had a motive for wishing her dead,’ replied Rose, speaking slowly, her cheeks flaming red.
‘Really, darling, I am surprised at you. You seem to have it in for poor Miss Belmore. What has the poor girl done to offend you?’
‘I did not like her manner towards me in the drawing room,’ said Rose, rather petulantly. It was on the tip of her tongue to add that she also didn’t much like the way her husband had leapt to the woman’s defence and pleaded her innocence, but she thought better of it. Instead, she conceded: ‘I am afraid I have quite taken against her. It is probably quite unreasonable of me, but I suppose it is just one of those things.’
Cedric merely raised an eyebrow and attacked a sausage.
To Rose, who was acutely aware that she was being not a little jealous and petty, an uncomfortable silence seemed to fill the room. She was only grateful that no servant had been present to hear the exchange between husband and wife. For, fortunately, the footman had taken it upon himself to leave the room at that moment to fetch the kedgeree from the kitchen.
‘Darling, how thrilling; a murder in the folly!’ exclaimed the speaker on the other end of the telephone. ‘Don’t you think it is a little like a Greek tragedy, what with it being the Greek Temple too?’
‘Lavinia –’ began Rose, trying to get a word in edgeways. Her sister-in-law, however, was having none of it.
‘I do think it rotten of you not to have telephoned me yesterday and told me all about it. Why, if I hadn’t decided to telephone this morning, the first I would have heard of it would have been when I read about it in this morning’s papers … For Lady Lavinia Sedgwick was staying at the Belvederes’ London house. ‘Anyway, you know what Manning is like, he couldn’t possibly keep the news to himself, well, that is to say, he couldn’t possibly keep it from me. As soon as I had enquired after you and Ceddie, and the servants, he just blurted it out.’
‘Fortunately, I do not think it has made the national dailies yet,’ said Rose. ‘I daresay it will be in them tomorrow, splashed across the front pages. But you see, the police were not certain until yesterday that Mrs Stapleton had actually been murdered.’
‘Manning was telling me Scotland Yard have been called in. I say, it’s not that frightfully handsome detective, is it?’
‘By that, I take it you are referring to Inspector Deacon? He is here, though I thought you didn’t much like him because you thought he had been frightfully rude to you during that affair at Dareswick Hall? Now, do be a dear and let me talk,’ said Rose quickly, fearing that Lavinia would interrupt. ‘I have something very particular to ask you.’
‘About the case? How frightfully exciting. You are going to investigate Mrs Stapleton’s death, aren’t you? There is little use in having an amateur sleuth for a sister-in-law if she does not investigate a murder that occurs on her own doorstep. Though, it is something of a pity that it had to happen in the folly. I don’t think I shall feel the same about the dear old place.’
‘What can you tell me about Miriam Belmore?’
‘Miriam Belmore? That is a name from the past. Her father works for the government, doesn’t he? Something quite high up. As to Miss Belmore herself, well, there’s not much to say. She’s an only child and frightfully spoilt. She gives herself airs and graces, thinks herself frightfully pretty, though of course much of it is due to art.’ A vision of Lavinia with her platinum dyed hair sprang to Rose’s mind, and she stifled a chuckle in spite of herself. ‘Of course,’ Lavinia was saying, ‘she is quite a few years older than us. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if she’s worried about becoming an old maid.’
‘I think you are being awfully unkind,’ said Rose, finding herself leaping to Miriam’s defence. ‘It’s just as well that I know you don’t mean a word of it, and aren’t nearly as awful as you like to make out.’
‘Very well. Have it your own way. What would you like me to say?’ said Lavinia, sounding slightly contrite. ‘She’s very beautiful and I can well imagine why Cordelia Quail cast her as Ophelia? Really, you know, you should ask Ceddie about her. He used to know her quite well. In fact, I used to tease him horribly about her. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.’
Inspector Deacon and Sergeant Lane enjoyed a hearty, but hasty, breakfast, before retiring to the private parlour at the Sedgwick Arms to reconvene their investigation.
‘We’ll go and speak to this Drury fellow first,’ said the inspector, glancing through the notes that he had made the day before. ‘We’ll interview him in his place of work. He’s the manager of a bank in Bichester, apparently. We’ll see what he can tell us, though I don’t mind telling you, Lane, it’s this Algernon Cuffe chap that I really want to speak to, but he’s not expected back until this afternoon.’
‘And Henry Rewe?’ enquired the sergeant. ‘What about him? We still don’t know why he took that wine glass. I reckon he’ll go to pieces and tell us everything if we were to go to his lodgings again this morning.’
‘All in good time, Lane,’ replied his superior. ‘I think it will do the young man good to fret a bit. Happen he’ll be a bit more forthcoming when we speak to him next without us having to put any questions to him.’
‘If you say so, sir,’ replied the sergeant, not sounding fully convinced.
Bichester was the nearest large town to Sedgwick, and it was full of the usual tobacconists and dress shops, legal firms and tearooms. The bank in which Mr Drury worked was situated on the main high street. It was fairly modest in appearance, though perfectly respectable, and specialised in offering small saving schemes to its less wealthy customers.
On the production of the inspector’s card to one of the bank clerks, Walter Drury himself emerged from a room off the main entrance and came forward to greet them, before ushering them through to his private office.
‘It is good of you to see us, sir,’ began Inspector Deacon pleasantly, as he took the proffered seat.
He looked across at Walter Drury, sitting behind his large mahogany desk, and studied the man with interest. Miss Sprat had described him as being rather unremarkable in appearance, but with impeccable manners; on first impressions, the inspector was inclined to agree with her assessment. This, he thought, was the fellow who had played both Polonius and Osric, attendants to the king. He could imagine this little man playing the pompous and pernickety Lord Chamberlain of King Claudius’ court, but the thought of him portraying the more outl
andish and foolish courtier, was more difficult to envisage. Yet, it was in the guise of Osric that Walter Drury had taken the wine glass from Algernon Cuffe, before it had proceeded on its onward and fateful journey to the queen.
‘I can’t quite believe it, Inspector. That Mrs Stapleton was murdered, I mean,’ said Walter, removing his small, gold wire-rimmed spectacles and cleaning them with his handkerchief. ‘It is too dreadful. I could hardly take it in when Henry told me the news.’
‘You have spoken with Mr Rewe?’ inquired the inspector sharply.
‘Oh, yes, Inspector. I went to see him yesterday evening. You see, he had taken it rather badly, poor Ursula dying like that in front of us. He is rather a sensitive young man. I wanted to make sure that he was all right.’ He glanced up at the inspector and gave him something of a reproving look. ‘I found the poor boy in quite a state. If you don’t mind my saying, Inspector, you frightened him terribly when you interviewed him yesterday.’
‘Are you aware, sir, that Mr Rewe has admitted to taking the wine glass from the folly, the wine glass in which there were found traces of potassium cyanide,’ said Inspector Deacon, rather coldly.
‘Yes, but –’
‘Furthermore,’ continued the inspector, disregarding Walter’s attempt to protest, ‘Mr Rewe was seen by a reliable witness, and indeed has admitted, removing what he believed to be the same glass from the drawing room at Sedgwick Court, where he had temporarily stowed it.’
‘How very complicated you make it all sound, Inspector,’ said Walter. ‘Knowing the young man, as I do, I feel certain that there is an innocent explanation for his behaviour. Tell me, did he admit to knowing that there was potassium cyanide in the glass?’
‘Well, no,’ said Inspector Deacon, slightly taken aback. ‘But to do so would have been foolhardy, for it would have been as good as admitting his guilt.’
‘And a trap of sorts was set in which to snare him, was it not?’
‘You may call it that.’
‘I do. And I think a jury might take a pretty dim view of it. After all, the glass Mr Rewe took from the drawing room did not contain the poison, and you only have Lady Belvedere’s word for it that she replaced the wine glass Mr Rewe put on the bookshelf with another one.’
‘Mr Drury!’
‘Oh, I am not suggesting that Lady Belvedere is lying, Inspector. Far from it. All I am saying is that a good defence barrister could make quite a case out of her ladyship meddling in police affairs.’ Walter gave a rueful smile. ‘I see I have shocked you. My intention was not to cause offence, Inspector, I assure you, either to yourself or to her ladyship. I just happen to believe in Mr Rewe’s innocence, and it will take more than some far-fetched story about a wine glass to convince me otherwise.’
The inspector raised his eyebrows and regarded the bank manager with renewed interest. Walter Drury had delivered what to the inspector had sounded very much like a prepared speech. The man in question stared down at the ink blotter positioned in front of him on the desk. Two large spots of colour had appeared on the little man’s cheeks, giving him something of a comical appearance. An awkward silence followed Walter Drury’s sermon, which neither man seemed inclined to break. Only the ticking of the old wooden clock on the mantelpiece, and the faint rustle of paper as Sergeant Lane turned a page in his notebook, disturbed the quiet.
‘Have you any reason for believing Mr Rewe to be innocent other than your faith in his good character?’ Inspector Deacon said at last.
‘What do you mean? Is that not enough?’
Was it the policeman’s imagination, or was there a trace of fear in the man’s eyes? Certainly, to his well-tuned ears, Walter Drury sounded anxious.
‘If my understanding of events is correct, you were in the circular room when Miss Quail came in with the tray bearing the wine glasses?’
‘I was, as were a number of the others, Inspector.’ He had not been mistaken, Walter Drury was on his guard.
‘Indeed. Did you happen to see anyone acting in a suspicious manner?’
‘Are you asking me, Inspector, if I saw the murderer administer the poison which killed Mrs Stapleton?’
‘Yes, if you put it like that. Perhaps you were vaguely aware of someone standing in front of the tray?’
‘I am afraid to disappoint you, Inspector, but I didn’t witness anything of that kind. You see, I was rather busy with my costume. I was rummaging through the pile of clothes left on one of the chairs to see if Mrs Simpson had finished stitching the cloak I was to wear as Osric. And then, of course, I had to come on to the stage and tell Hamlet that the king and queen requested his presence.’
‘At which point,’ said the inspector, ‘you went back into the circular room and returned to the stage carrying a small table?’
‘Yes, indeed, Inspector. You are very well informed.’
‘One of the young Prentice boys dropped the foils, didn’t he? It created a distraction of sorts. On Miss Quail’s instructions, you helped him gather them up. The other Prentice boy was carrying the wine glasses at the time, wasn’t he? Would he have had sufficient time to administer the poison, do you think?’
Walter Drury paled under the volley of questions. ‘Surely, Inspector, you cannot suspect the Prentice twins of murdering Ursula … Mrs Stapleton?’ He looked appalled by the very suggestion. ‘They are hardly more than boys.’
‘At this very moment, until proved otherwise, I suspect everyone, Mr Drury.’
‘I see. Well, in that case, Inspector,’ said the bank manager, puckering his lips, ‘I should inform you that I had ample opportunity to administer the poison myself, when I took the wine glass from Mr Cuffe after he had held it up to the light and dropped in the pearl.’
There was a sight pause and then the inspector demanded, somewhat abruptly: ‘Who took the wine glass from you and handed it to the queen?’
Walter took a deep breath and licked his lips. He remembered all too vividly the words whispered in his ear. ‘Let go, Walter, there’s a dear.’ At the time, he had felt only a sense of relief, because Ursula should have been standing beside him, but she wasn’t. He had yielded to panic. The queen would not be in a position to deliver her line, and Cordelia would insist that they do the scene again …
‘Miss Belmore,’ he said quietly. ‘Miriam. She took the glass from me. But she had no reason to wish Mrs Stapleton dead.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Inspector Deacon, ‘it appears to me that she had a very good motive for wishing her harm. For I have it on good authority that the deceased was a rival for Mr Cuffe’s affections.’
‘Oh?’ cried Walter.
To the inspector’s astute eye, the little man appeared startled by the revelation, and yet he could not be in ignorance of what he had just been told. It occurred to him then that he had either been a little brusque in his questioning, or that the man thought it was not common knowledge. He decided to change his line of questioning and adopt a less severe tone.
‘I understand that you and Mrs Stapleton were great friends?’ he said pleasantly.
‘Oh?’ said Walter again, looking slightly taken aback. ‘What makes you think so, Inspector?’
‘Well,’ said the policeman, suddenly finding the little man’s manner rather irritating, not least because his mood seemed to fluctuate between unwavering certainty and total amazement, ‘you were a cousin of her late husband’s and you made frequent visits to Quince Cottage.’
‘Oh, I see what you are getting at, Inspector.’ Walter attempted a chuckle. ‘Mrs Stapleton and I weren’t great friends, as you put it. I just felt rather sorry for her, that’s all. The Stapletons, and by that I really mean Cecil Stapleton, Dudley’s father, had treated her rather badly. They thought their son had married beneath him and, when he … died, they did not want anything to do with her.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I suppose it would have been different if there had been a child.’
‘They gave her a generous allowance,’ said the inspector.
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bsp; ‘Yes, they did do that. Though in my opinion it was the least they could do.’
‘Are you aware, sir, that the reason Mrs Stapleton came to live at Sedgwick was because you were a resident of this village?’
Walter stared at the inspector with a look of genuine surprise. But if he intended to make a comment he was prevented from doing so. For Inspector Deacon had had enough of the little man and his way of making light of the facts. He said:
‘You must be aware that Mrs Stapleton chanced on a photograph in one of the provisional newspapers of the Elizabethan Pageant at Sedgwick? She spotted you dressed in Tudor costume, and that was the reason she gave to her maid-companion for wanting to come and live in Sedgwick.’
‘Oh, I see,’ muttered Walter, looking visibly relieved. ‘Mrs Stapleton did say something to me to that effect, now that you come to mention it. But I must admit that I didn’t take what she said very seriously. You see, I think she just wanted a change of scene, and she used my being here as a bit of an excuse.’ He leant forward and lowered his voice rather unnecessarily. ‘I think she felt obliged to give a reason to her maid-companion, whom she knew would be very reluctant to leave London, what with having been born and brought up there, and being a little long in the tooth to up sticks, as it were.’
Inspector Deacon wondered what Miss Sprat would say if she heard Walter Drury speak of her in such a fashion. He remembered how she had spoken of him in very warm terms, referring to his pretty manners and his pleasant disposition. He felt a stab of pity for the old woman, and said rather more harshly than he had intended:
‘Then you were not intent on matrimony, Mr Drury?’
‘I, marry Mrs Stapleton? Good heavens, no!’ exclaimed Walter. ‘I admit I am a widower, but … what put that idea into your head, Inspector?’
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