A Shadowed Livery

by Charlie Garratt

  The Victory was part of a jumbled terrace of buildings, a number half-timbered, the remainder stone built, their roofs at varying heights and a similar mix of slate, tile and thatch. Priors Allenford had been built over many centuries and its builders demonstrated no commitment to maintaining any sense of uniformity. The terrace was perhaps a hundred yards long, though I could still smell the bakery on the distant corner. I would certainly have headed towards it if I hadn’t been so full from the feast Cudlip had forced on me.

  Another higgledy-piggledy, but shorter, terrace lined the opposite side of the road, punctuated at each end by a narrow lane. At the side of one of these lanes stood the church, its square clock-tower dominating the skyline. At the other end, a series of individual cottages, each with its own hedge or picket fence, seemed to smudge the view until the road turned away towards the west. The church bell tolled out for half past nine.

  I followed Cudlip’s directions to Miss Leeming’s cottage, which lay slightly off the main road, only a few minutes’ walk from the Victory. Even though it was still quite early, and the sunlight was barely breaking through the clouds, I could see the lady I assumed to be the ex-schoolmistress already at work in her garden. I’d imagined her to be fairly elderly, frail, silver hair, walking stick and all of that. Instead, she appeared to be only recently retired, her hair still dark and with the bright complexion of one used to lots of time spent outdoors. Her spectacles were perched on the tip of her nose, as if she only needed them for close work, and she peered over them as I came into view. She raised her secateurs in greeting and gave me a wide smile.

  ‘Lovely morning.’

  ‘It certainly is, but a bit cooler than I’d like. Beautiful garden.’

  ‘Why, thank you. I do my best, you know, but it’s getting to be more of a struggle. Not as young as I used to be. Are you out for a walk? I don’t think you’re from the village, are you?’ She pointed at my shiny leather shoes. ‘This lane doesn’t really go anywhere, fizzles out into a farm track beyond the trees, so I think you might need something tougher than those if you plan walking in that direction.’

  ‘Actually, I believe it’s you I’m looking for. Miss Leeming, is it?’

  She now looked at me with a hint of suspicion.

  ‘That’s correct. Barbara Leeming. And who might you be?’

  I explained who I was and told her I was investigating the deaths at Grovestock House. At this she cast her eyes down and shook her head.

  ‘Such a sad, sad loss. I didn’t really know any of them well, apart from the boy, but it’s still an awful waste of life. Everyone in the village is so shocked.’ She placed the secateurs in her basket and stretched her back. ‘You’d best come inside if we’re to talk. I’m about ready for a cup of tea anyway.’

  Her sitting room was, unlike the woman herself, as I’d imagined it might be, with its low ceiling, dark beams, oak furniture and a small drop leaf table pushed against one wall. Miss Leeming added a couple of blooms to the already full copper rose-bowl on a white lace doily on the sideboard. Next to it was a silver tray with a china teapot and matching pair of cups and saucers. Reinforcing the image of learned elegance was a bookcase packed with novels and school books. She asked me to sit in one of the two armchairs looking out onto the rear vegetable garden whilst she brewed the tea and brought over the tray, placing it on a small table in front of the window.

  ‘Now, how can I help you, Inspector?’

  ‘I understand Tom Barleigh visited you on a fairly regular basis. Why was that?’

  ‘He came first to ask for my assistance in researching his family. He’d heard I had a keen interest in local history and hoped I might have some records which would shed light on issues he’d encountered. I’m afraid that apart from a few papers relating to Grovestock House and to local people who’d served in the Great War I wasn’t able to help him much.’

  ‘But he still came to see you?’

  ‘He did, probably once a week, sometimes more. His driver would bring him into the village, wheel him down the lane to the cottage and if the weather was good we’d sit in the garden, otherwise we’d sit here looking out. I think he was quite lonely. I was too, since I had finished teaching, so it was nice to have his company.’

  They’d chatted about this and that, she said. He’d keep her up to date with his research and she would tell him what she’d been doing in the garden. Sometimes they would play chess or discuss stories she had seen in the newspaper.

  ‘Could you tell me something of Tom’s research? You said there were some issues bothering him.’

  ‘Tom told me the family had fairly good material going back almost three centuries but there were gaps in recent years. It seems it has always fallen on the serving baronet to add the information on his current generation to the records. Unfortunately, Tom’s grandfather had let it slip a little and Sir Arthur apparently showed little interest so the young man took it on instead. Tom used to joke he’d not much else to do with his time. But he did wish his father was a bit more forthcoming with information.’ At this recollection of happier times, the teacher frowned. ‘He was always joking, you know, despite his terrible disability, or perhaps because of it. He once said he always viewed his accident as a tremendous piece of luck.’

  ‘Luck? How could that be?’

  ‘I think he meant he could easily have been killed that day, like his friend. He wasn’t especially religious, but he did believe in fate, that things, good and bad, happen and you can’t control them so you have to accept them. Quite a mature view of the world for such a young person, don’t you think, Inspector?’

  I asked her when she’d last seen Tom Barleigh and she replied it had been about a week before his death.

  ‘Did he give you any inkling there was a problem at home or that he was distressed about anything?’

  ‘Not really. The last time I saw him he was as cheerful as ever. He did say his mother had been acting strangely and kept trying to put him off the wedding. She’d become even more forceful in recent days and seemed to be trying to talk to him about something but kept pulling back as if she didn’t want to upset him. He was also displaying the usual nerves of any young man about to marry — but nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘He gave you no indication of what his mother was trying to discuss with him?’

  ‘I don’t think he really knew, Inspector. We didn’t speak about it for more than a few minutes. We soon moved on to photographs I’d found of his father and several friends taken a few days before they left for the Front. He was most interested in those and he asked me to point out who they were. Two of the other young men in them, Harry Stenson and Graham Cox, were killed at Passchendaele. Graham was my nephew and had been hoping to join his father’s solicitor’s practice after the War and Harry wanted to continue his passion for archaeology at university. Such bright futures thrown away.’

  I’d briefly seen several photographs on Tom’s desk and asked if the ones she’d given him might be amongst them. She thought it was a possibility but said she couldn’t swear to it. It’s interesting how, in the company of a policeman, even quite respectable people become more cautious. I asked her if there was anything else she could add.

  ‘Not really, Inspector. As I’ve said, Tom was in fairly good spirits the last day I saw him. He was grateful for the photographs and excited that they might help him with one of the items he’d been puzzling over. He was his normal polite self but I could tell once he’d seen them he was itching to get back home. I think if he hadn’t been stuck in the wheelchair he’d have dashed out of the cottage as soon as he had the photographs in his hands.’

  I was on the point of thanking the teacher when a knock came on the door. It was Cudlip.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Inspector, but a message has been sent down from Grovestock House that Sir Arthur is available if you want to see him this morning. Shall I let them know when you’ll be there?’

  The man who shambled up to shake my hand was e
ven more of a surprise than Miss Leeming had been. Something in my upbringing had led me to picture landed gentry as tall, elegant, patrician and handsome. People literally head and shoulders in every way above the normal run of humanity. But here was a man for whom pity, rather than admiration, was the immediate response.

  He looked to be over seventy, though he was, in fact, only in his fifties. His hand, briefly shaking mine, had a cold limpness and he walked as if one leg was slightly shorter than the other. Though he may have been taller he was now afflicted by a severe stoop which made him appear several inches smaller than me. His most striking feature was his face. The whole of his forehead and right cheek shone red and yellow with long-healed burnt skin.

  It was clear he had once been a handsome man and despite his terrible injuries there was still a certain attractiveness in his features; a keen observer would see some of his remaining good looks were the result of recent and competent application of makeup. His lashes had been thickened and his hairless brows made to look less alarming. Within all of this, his eyes still blazed fiercely and intelligently.

  ‘Ah, Inspector, I’m not what you thought, it seems. It is clear in your face.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Arthur, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but no, you’re not as I expected you to be.’

  ‘Well, no matter. You’re not the first, and doubtless you won’t be the last, to be a little surprised at my appearance on first meeting. In my youth, you know, I was considered quite a charmer. The real ladies’ man. But then, like for so many of my generation, the Great War put paid to that. We seem to be squaring up for another fight with Germany, don’t you think? As if we hadn’t taken enough punishment last time.’

  We chatted for several more minutes about the situation with Germany. Then, as if coming upon some kind of resolve, he paused and drew a deep breath.

  ‘Well, Inspector, you didn’t come here to discuss Mr Chamberlain and Herr Hitler, so let’s get down to business. But first, may I apologise for not making myself available yesterday? You’ll appreciate, I’m sure, that the last couple of weeks have been quite wretched.’ He looked away, staring into the distance through his study window.

  ‘Sir Arthur, if I could avoid putting you through this, please believe me I would. However, I’m sure you understand we need to get to the bottom of what happened.’

  ‘But why, Mr Given? Are you saying your constable and the Coroner got it wrong?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m not. We just need to tie up some loose ends and it would be most helpful if we can just go through a few remaining questions I have.’

  ‘Very well, Inspector, please continue.’

  ‘Firstly, can you tell me where you were when your son was shot?’

  ‘I was in my room.’

  ‘But you didn’t hear the shot?’

  ‘Of course I heard the shot, but this is a working estate, Inspector, there’s always shooting — whether it’s a guest out for sport or one of the staff chasing their dinner — it isn’t at all unusual.’

  ‘Wasn’t this a little close to the house?’

  ‘I presumed it was Perkins or one of the other gardeners dealing with a rat or something.’

  ‘Did you think the same when the second shot was fired?’

  ‘As I already said, Mr Given, gunshots are not uncommon around Grovestock House, even close to.’

  ‘Could I ask you about the day before the shootings, Sir Arthur? I’m told you had an argument with your wife. What was it about?’

  ‘Are you married, Inspector?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘No, I thought not. If you were you’d know domestic disagreements happen all the time but really mean nothing. My wife was on edge because of the wedding. She thought Tom was too ill to be married and wanted me to put a stop to the arrangements. She’d been talking about it for weeks so I merely told her she’d have to like it or lump it. Tom had made up his mind and that was that. She stormed off in a huff but we were talking again by lunchtime.’

  ‘I see. Thank you for that, Sir Arthur. Can we now turn to the shotgun itself?’

  ‘The shotgun? I understand it belonged to George Perkins but I know nothing else.’

  ‘But didn’t Mr Perkins report to you it had been stolen, sir?’

  ‘Well, the man came in to see me in a bit of a state just after breakfast, saying his gun had been stolen, urging me to call the police. To tell you the truth, Inspector, I’d just had a bit of good news and was in quite high spirits. I told Perkins not to fuss and that there was a good chance it was one of the lads playing a trick on him. Perhaps if I’d taken him seriously none of this would have happened.’

  He put his hands up to his face, pressing them against his eyes. I gave him a moment to recover.

  His room was beautifully furnished, with bookcases lining two walls containing leather-bound books, probably collected by his family over many years. One, Salmon’s Ancient and Modern Rome, lay open on a walnut desk facing an enormous bay window. This window was the outstanding feature of the room, and provided a splendid panorama of the estate and the countryside beyond. Away in the distance I could see the tower of the village church, jutting skywards above a line of trees. The floor was covered with Turkish rugs and, while I’m no expert, they seemed to be of the finest quality. Although I’d been given to believe the baronetcy wasn’t real aristocracy, there had been without doubt a substantial income associated with it.

  ‘My apologies, Inspector.’

  ‘Please don’t apologise, sir, it’s quite understandable. You were saying you’d had some good news. What was it?’

  ‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm in me telling you. It was money.’

  ‘Money, sir?’ I looked around the room again, slightly incredulous.

  ‘Yes, money. Don’t be fooled by the surroundings, Inspector. My income, in the main, is derived from investments the family made long ago and some of them have taken a bit of a battering in recent times. However, all this talk of war has brought quite a revival to Army spending — clothing, vehicles, armaments and so on — and I’d had news that morning of some very substantial orders received by companies in which I have an interest.’

  ‘But you were only talking to me a few minutes ago how you deplored war and hoped another one might be avoided.’

  ‘Oh, I do, Inspector. Believe me, if I thought there was anything I could do to prevent the conflict I’d do it. I have to be practical. It’s not as if I’m newly investing in these industries. We’ve been with them through the bad times as well. Some people are going to make a fortune if fighting breaks out, so why shouldn’t I be one of them?’

  It was an honest, albeit callous, assessment of the situation. Could he be just as calculating when two or three deaths were closer to home?

  ‘Indeed, sir, why not? I haven’t any investments myself but I know times have been difficult over the past year or so. You would have been relieved to hear of this upturn in your affairs.’

  ‘Quite so, Inspector. In fact, I had to go into town on Tuesday right after I’d spoken to Constable Sawyer. I needed to get to the bank to shore up the money for these ventures. If I hadn’t done so they’d have fallen through and I might have been ruined.’

  ‘And someone at the bank will corroborate your visit, I presume?’

  ‘I’m sure they will if you ask them, Inspector, though I can’t see why you’d want to bother.’

  ‘Let’s return for a minute to the time following the first shootings. You said you were in this room and thought nothing of the shots. Is that correct?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘Jervis came running in. Without a knock or anything. Most unlike him. He blurted out: “Come quickly, Sir Arthur. It’s Lady Isabelle and Mr Tom. They’ve been shot!”’

  ‘Were those his exact words? No mention that her Ladyship had shot your son?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe so. I can’t swear those were the actual words he used but th
ey’re close enough. I think the poor man was so alarmed he’d just run up to inform me without thinking through the sequence of events. I hurried down to the side lawn with him and saw…’ He stared out of the window again.

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘I told Jervis to go into the house to phone the police. I think I may have also asked Tom’s nurse, who had just arrived, to see if anything could be done, but she confirmed they were both dead. I then told everyone they mustn’t disturb the ... the bodies any further because the police would need to inspect them.’

  ‘Was that it then, sir?’

  ‘I left a couple of the gardeners to keep watch. Then I urged everyone else back into the house and went inside myself.’

  ‘And did you all stay together until Constable Sawyer arrived?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. I asked Jervis to tell the staff what had happened and then send them about their business as normally as possible, or go back to their rooms if they so desired. For my part, I returned here and stayed until Jervis sent Jenny up to see me.’

  ‘What happened when she arrived?’

  ‘She was looking radiant. It was as though the time away from the stresses and strains of the wedding arrangements had done her good. However, I think she sensed something was seriously wrong, even though I’d given strict instructions to Jervis not to say anything.’

  ‘But wouldn’t she have seen the bodies when she was arriving at the house?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so, Inspector, because the side lawn is pretty well shielded from the drive. If the men were doing their job as I’d instructed she may have noticed a group of them standing there chatting, but not much else. If she had seen anything she didn’t mention it to me.’

  ‘How did she take the news?’