THREE SILENT THINGS a cozy murder mystery (Village Mysteries Book 2)

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘Well, things aren’t too bright, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Helen’s left me. She walked out on Boxing Day.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

  ‘She wants a divorce. Apparently, she’s met someone else.’

  Oh, the irony! Their affair had lasted for eight years and she had lost count of the times he had sworn he was going to leave his wife and get a divorce. Now it was happening anyway.

  ‘Isn’t that what you wanted, Ralph? You always said so.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I mean, Helen and I never really got along, as you know, but one stuck with it for the children’s sake.’

  And for the sake of a whole lot of other things, she thought. One reason trotted out after the other. But she couldn’t blame him, she could only blame herself for getting involved with a married man in the first place and for staying involved in the second. But she had been so in love with him – so desperately in love that nothing else had seemed to matter.

  He went on talking. He was a free man now. There was no reason why they shouldn’t meet. As a matter of fact, he’d be down in Dorset next weekend, so perhaps he could come over to the Manor?

  She thought as she stood there, clutching the receiver, it would be so easy to say yes, do come, Ralph. I’d love to see you, and it was true that she would. But she had known since their last meeting in London that she would never trust in him again. Never feel quite the same. She had finally succeeded in closing the door on their affair and she would be insane to reopen it. And yet, and yet . . .

  ‘Ruth? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘So, when shall I come?’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think it would be a good idea.’

  He sounded very surprised – almost shocked. ‘Why on earth not? There’s nothing to stop us being together now.’ She said clearly, ‘Yes, there is, Ralph. Me. I’m afraid I don’t want to see you again. So, please don’t ring any more.’ When she had put down the receiver she went into the drawing room and poured herself a large gin. That was that, then. Door firmly shut and bolted now. The end of the affair.

  At long, long last.

  ‘I took you at your word, I’m afraid, Colonel. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all. Glad to see you.’

  There was no car outside so Roy Ward must have walked over from the Hall with the express intention of calling at Pond Cottage, rather than dropping by in passing. It certainly wasn’t the weather for a stroll and it had been dark for some time. The colonel took his coat and showed him into the sitting room where the curtains were drawn and the fire burning brightly. His visitor looked around with approval.

  ‘This is how an English country cottage should be. What exiles in far away places dream of and long to come back to.’

  ‘Didn’t you say that you weren’t so keen on that idea?’

  ‘I wasn’t, but my wife, Jean, was. Our flat at the Hall is very pleasant but it isn’t a patch on this – in my opinion.’

  ‘Nice of you to say so. The truth is that old cottages are the very devil to keep up. Draughts, damp, woodworm, dry rot . . . I wouldn’t really recommend one. What’ll you have to drink?’

  ‘Whisky, if you have it.’

  ‘Indeed, I do. A stengah?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘It used to be my tipple out in Malaya. An ideal drink in that climate. Water or soda?’

  ‘Water, please.’

  Thursday had opened one eye and stayed put. The colonel indicated the wing chair.

  ‘Do sit down.’

  He fetched the drinks – the long half-whisky, half-water stengah and his own a shorter version – and sat down at the other end of the sofa from Thursday, who shut his eye again.

  Roy Ward said, ‘You’ve even got a cat to go with the cottage.’

  ‘I don’t recommend him either. Good health!’

  ‘Good health!’

  ‘Your wife isn’t back yet?’

  ‘No, her sister’s not doing too well, apparently. The doctors don’t seem to be sure if the operation worked, or not. Something to do with the bone having deteriorated. My sister-in-law’s a widow with no children, so there’s nobody else to look after her. It looks like Jean’s going to be away for quite a while.’

  ‘Not so good for you – without her company.’

  ‘That’s true. It’s all very different from Malaya. Well, you know what the social life out there was like. Something going on almost every night . . . nobody ever sat at home twiddling their thumbs, did they?’

  ‘Not that I can remember.’

  He and Laura had both thoroughly enjoyed their time in the Far East but he wasn’t sure if he would have wanted to stay there for ever. Laura certainly wouldn’t have done, any more than Jean Ward. She had always dreamed of living in a English country cottage. During one of their leaves, many summers ago, they had stopped at the spit-and-sawdust Dog and Duck at Frog End and sat on a bench in the sun outside the pub. Laura had pointed out the rose-covered cottage across the green and said that it was like her dream. They’d never got closer to the dream than a dreary flat in London before she had died. Afterwards, he had been staying with friends in Dorset in late autumn, and had driven round the countryside, trying to find the same place. He had finally found it, but the Dog and Duck had been transformed out of its spit-and-sawdust days, and the cottage – Pond Cottage, without the roses in bloom had been nothing like as idyllic, close-up. As it happened, it had been for sale and he had bought it against all sanity and common sense and in spite of an appalling survey. He had done so because it had been a part of Laura, if only in a dream. While he lived in the cottage, she was there, too, with him.

  Roy Ward said, ‘I wanted to ask your advice about something, as a matter of fact. I hope you don’t mind.’

  Strangely, people often did ask his advice and sometimes about quite personal and private things; he had never felt remotely qualified to give it. Maybe they imagined that he must have had a lot of experience of life in the army. True in some ways, but not in others.

  ‘Ask away. I’ll do my best.’

  ‘It concerns Lois Delaney.’

  ‘Oh?’ His glass stopped in mid-air.

  ‘I heard that it was you who found her body – on the day when you came round collecting for that animal charity.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Ghastly business! The police interviewed all the residents at the Hall of course – including myself. They asked me if I knew her and I said that I didn’t. That’s not true, of course. I met her at a party in Singapore many years ago, before I knew Jean.’

  ‘Yes, I remember you saying so. I thought it was rather odd that when Inspector Squibb talked to me about the residents who had known Lois Delaney he didn’t mention you.’

  ‘Did you tell him about me?’

  ‘No. There didn’t seem any reason to. The inspector is quite capable of conducting his own investigations.’

  ‘The truth is that Lois Delaney and I had an affair.’

  The colonel said slowly, ‘It must have been something to remember.’

  ‘It was. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I was head-over-heels in love with her, of course – but so were lots of other men. She had countless admirers in Singapore but, for some reason, she chose me.’

  ‘Perhaps she fell for you, too?’

  ‘No . . . I don’t flatter myself that was the case. But we spent three days together. I took her to an idyllic beach place I knew over on the Malay peninsula, right away from everything and everyone. It was paradise. Then, of course, we had to go back to Singapore and she left with the company to go on to Australia for the rest of their tour. I wrote letters to her and she answered. She went on writing back for a while but in the end, her letters petered out and, eventually, they stopped altogether. I never saw her again at least, not until Jean and I came here. I’d no idea that she was living in a flat at the Hal
l but the caretaker happened to mention it one day. It was a hell of a shock, I can tell you. I’d never forgotten her, you see; carried a candle for her all those years. She was an exceptional woman – not only beautiful but utterly fascinating. When you were with her, you couldn’t look at anything but her. Nothing and no one else existed.’

  ‘I can well believe it.’

  ‘Of course, I’d never mentioned the affair to Jean or even told her that I’d met Lois. There was no point and anyway it was something that I wanted to keep entirely to myself. I wanted to keep the memory of it unspoiled. Do you understand what I mean?’

  ‘Completely.’

  Some poetic lines came into the colonel’s mind – something about memory painting a perfect day with colours that never fade. He knew of days and times like that.

  Roy Ward gave him a grateful look. ‘I thought you might.’ He drank some of his stengah. ‘I had no intention of bothering Lois, or of trying to see her. It’s quite easy to keep oneself to oneself at the Hall – it’s not a sociable kind of place. I expect that’s one reason why she chose it. And, in any case, I doubted if she’d recognize me, if we did happen to meet by chance. I’ve changed quite a bit since my young days. And, of course, there was always Jean to consider. I didn’t want her upset in any way.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘But then, when Jean went off to look after her sister after Christmas and I was left alone in the flat, I kept thinking to myself, why the hell not? Why not at least say hallo? There surely wouldn’t be any harm in that? After all, it had happened a long time ago and we were both getting on... not like the young people we were. So, in the end, I went down and knocked on her door.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘New Year’s Eve, about four in the afternoon. I’d spent most of the day trying to decide whether to do it or not, getting up the nerve, I suppose.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  Roy Ward smiled ruefully. ‘Nothing much. As I’d half-expected, she didn’t recognize me at all and she didn’t even remember my name. I could see that she’d been drinking quite a bit – she had a Bloody Mary on the go – so at first I thought it might be because of that, but then when I reminded her about us meeting in Singapore and about the beach paradise, she could hardly recall a thing about it. Oh, she pretended to – just to be kind, I’m sure – but all she really remembered was that Blithe Spirit had been a big success there and how the audience had gone on and on clapping for ten curtain calls. You can imagine how I felt. My dream crumbled to dust.’

  ‘You have my sympathy.’

  ‘I don’t deserve it. Going to see her was a lunatic thing to do. Pathetic of me. Anyway, she was nice enough to offer me a drink but I left after a short while. I knew I’d been a complete fool – and that I’d been a fool for years. Then, when the police told me the next day that she’d been found dead, I’m afraid I didn’t say anything about having known her or about having seen her that afternoon. You see, the inspector told me that her husband had called on her in the evening and that she was still alive then, so I felt I was in the clear, as it were. Even so, I was afraid of being implicated somehow – made a suspect even – in which case Jean would be bound to get to know all about it. She’d find out that I’d gone down to the flat as soon as her back was turned, and about my having an affair with Lois. I can tell you that she wouldn’t have taken it very well. So, I said nothing and then when the coroner ruled that it was suicide, there seemed even less reason to say anything. But, as time has gone by, I’m not so sure. Maybe I should come clean, as they say, and tell the police the whole story, even though it would make no difference to the verdict. It’s been on my conscience. What do you think?’

  The colonel took his time answering. Roy Ward’s pride had been shattered, as well as his dream. Worse than rejecting him, Lois Delaney had forgotten him. She had not even remembered his name. The idyllic three days in Malaya when they had been lovers had very obviously meant little to her and were long forgotten. Men passionately in love had killed for less. But she had been alive when Bruce King had called later and, if Roy Ward had gone back to the flat afterwards with vengeance in his heart – which seemed most unlikely given the sort of man he was – then he would hardly have told him this tale or asked his advice.

  He said slowly, ‘I can’t see any necessity to say any more to the police. A suicide verdict has been given, the case is closed. There seems little advantage in upsetting your wife.’ A sigh of relief. ‘I’m very glad to hear you say that. Thank you.’

  There was a real danger, the colonel thought somewhat grimly, of landing himself in all kinds of trouble for conspiring to withhold evidence in a police investigation. First Miss Butler – twice over – and now Roy Ward. Who would be next? He drained his glass and stood up.

  ‘Time for the other half, I think. We could both do with it.’

  ‘I could indeed.’

  When he had refilled the glasses and sat down again, the colonel said, ‘By the way, when you saw Lois Delaney that afternoon, what sort of mood was she in? Did she seem down in the dumps? Depressed?’

  ‘Not at all. Far from it. As I said, she’d obviously drunk quite a bit but she was in a happy mood, not in the least maudlin. She told that she was returning to the West End at long last and how thrilled she was. That was really all she wanted to talk about. The theatre and the play. She didn’t seem to care about anything else.’ Roy Ward downed more of his stengah and looked at the colonel. ‘Of course, I know you’ll keep our conversation to yourself.’

  That was another thing, the colonel thought, bemused. People always assumed that they could trust him implicitly to keep their secrets. It never seemed to occur to them that he might do otherwise. Perhaps that was why they picked on him in the first place.

  Ten

  ‘Good morning, Colonel. Hope I’m not disturbing you too early?’

  Ruth Swynford stood on his doorstep, arms full of a large, newspaper-wrapped bundle. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold.

  ‘Not a bit. Come in, quickly, before you freeze to death.’

  ‘I’ve got snowy boots on.’

  ‘My hallway doesn’t mind that any more than your flagstones did.’

  She stepped inside. ‘Some hellebores for you. Naomi said you ought to have some to cheer you up but you look quite cheerful to me.’

  He smiled. ‘I am. But it’s very good of you to bring them. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nothing. I had too many of them. You’ll be doing me a favour by taking them off my hands. I need the space.’

  He didn’t really believe her but he knew it would be pointless, as well as ungracious, to argue. ‘What do I do with them?’

  ‘You needn’t do anything till the snow goes. I’ve put them in pots so they won’t mind waiting around; you can plant them out when you’re ready. Naomi’s earmarked a spot in your garden, but don’t let her bully you. They’re already flowering. Look.’

  She lifted a corner of the newspaper and he peered at the pure white buds – one or two of them already open.

  ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a pity they’re so bashful. They hang their heads and you have to make them look up to see them properly.’ She raised a cup-shaped bloom gently with one finger and he admired the delicate purple splashes around its green and yellow centre. ‘Some people plant them on a bank so they can see them better, but Naomi says you haven’t got one.’

  ‘They’ll give me great pleasure. Thank you, Ruth.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I’ll put them on the kitchen table for the time being.’ He carried the bundle through and she followed him. ‘Did you go to Lois Delaney’s funeral, by the way, Colonel?’

  ‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘I don’t think the village has ever seen anything like it before. I hope people don’t start making pilgrimages to her grave and leaving those depressing bunches of flowers.’

  ‘I th
ink that’s unlikely.’

  ‘Poor woman. I felt quite sorry for her. She must have been really miserable to want to kill herself. I once felt like that. Life didn’t seem worth living and then, when my mother was murdered, it seemed even worse. Do you remember how the police suspected me at first, before they found the real culprit?’

  ‘Yes, I do. A very unhappy time for you.’

  She didn’t know it – nobody did, or ever would, except the murderer – but he had been instrumental in solving the crime.

  ‘Tom Harvey doesn’t think she did kill herself.’

  ‘Oh? Why doesn’t he?’

  ‘He said she had something to live for.’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘I hear they held the wake at that posh country hotel. The place the millionaire husband owns.’

  ‘It’s not posh exactly,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think you’d like it very much, Ruth.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not sure they’d let me in anyway. Not dressed like this.’

  He saw her back to the front door where she paused; he noticed that her pink cheeks had gone even pinker.

  ‘By the way, Tom Harvey has asked me to marry him. I wondered what you’d think of the idea, Colonel? I’d value your opinion.’

  Here we go again, he thought: someone else asking me about something very personal. In Ruth’s case, it was probably because of his grey hairs and because she had no father to ask.

  He said firmly, ‘I think Tom Harvey is a very fine young man as well as a very fine doctor. And I think you’d be very happy together.’

  She nodded. ‘I thought you’d probably say that. Everybody likes Tom. I do, too. Very much. It’s just that I’m still a bit gun-shy, if you know what I mean. There was someone else for a long time and it’s only just ended. I don’t feel ready for anything else yet.’

  ‘I understand. He’ll want an answer, though, sooner or later.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. He says if it’s “no”, he’ll leave Frog End. Go off somewhere miles away – America or Australia, somewhere like that.’

  ‘Which would be a great pity.’