A Shadowed Livery

by Charlie Garratt

  ‘I’m so sorry, sir.’

  A woman shouted from the counter. ‘Bridget! What are you doing? Stand up at once and into the kitchen with you, girl!’

  The older woman, who I had to assume was Martha herself, walked over, knelt, shuffled my papers into a single stack, and put them in my hand. She was attractive in a way which seemed to come from an innate confidence rather than anything recognisable as traditional beauty. She was, like me, a little overweight, though she carried it well.

  ‘There you are, Inspector. I hope the silly girl didn’t do too much damage.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine, Mrs...?’

  ‘Kendall, Martha Kendall.’

  ‘Well, as I was saying Mrs Kendall, I’m certain the papers will be fine, it was only a few drops of tea. Don’t be too hard on the girl, she was trying to do her best — just panicked a bit that’s all.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to be so understanding, Inspector.’

  ‘That’s the second time you’ve used my title, Mrs Kendall. We’ve not met before, have we?’

  ‘No, we haven’t, but everyone knows who you are. No secrets in a place like this. I wasn’t a hundred per cent certain it was you when you first came in, but then the headings on some of those papers confirmed it.’

  ‘I could use someone as observant as you in the force — have you ever considered joining?’

  ‘Get away with you, Inspector! I’m happy enough in this place and get all the excitement I need trying to help my customers choose between ham and cheese in their sandwiches!’

  ‘Well, if you ever change your mind, you come and see me.’

  ‘That I will, sir, though I don’t think it’s going to happen.’

  Even though this was a natural break in the conversation the woman appeared reluctant to leave.

  ‘Would you like to join me in a cup of tea, Mrs Kendall? I’m sure there’s plenty here for two, even after what the waitress spilled.’

  She pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. I made ready to pour her a drink.

  ‘No tea for me, thanks, but we’re not very busy so I’ll sit down with you for a minute or two. You’re investigating the deaths up at Grovestock House, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  She shook her head. ‘Terrible, terrible.’

  ‘It is a sad state of affairs indeed, Mrs Kendall.’

  ‘And people are saying it wasn’t Lady Isabelle who shot poor Tom Barleigh. That it was someone else who murdered the three of them. Are they right?’

  So, the word was out. I might have known it wouldn’t remain secret for long.

  ‘Well, we have to explore all the possibilities, don’t we, and we’re not ruling anything out.’

  She leaned further over the table towards me and dropped her voice to a whisper.

  ‘Do you have any idea to who it might be?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll understand I can’t discuss it with you, Mrs Kendall. Do you know something about what happened?’

  ‘Oh no, not me, sir. It’s just that my daughter, Alice, used to work up there before she married, that’s why I’m interested, and the things she heard might make your hair stand on end.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘I don’t think I should be saying, Inspector. It would be second-hand, wouldn’t it? But I’ve been nagging Alice to have a word with you, and I think she’d be happy to come in and tell you herself.’

  ‘You’re Alice?’

  The young woman arrived about half an hour after Martha Kendall had sent a note to ask her to meet me. She had her mother’s good looks and confidence.

  ‘Alice Brown, now, was Alice Kendall. Mum said you wanted to have a word.’

  Martha had allowed us the use of her rooms above the café so her daughter and I could talk without being overheard. The living area echoed the orderliness she displayed downstairs, with very little clutter beyond family photographs and a few knick-knacks. We had settled ourselves into armchairs either side of a large bay window.

  ‘Your mother told me you used to work at Grovestock House. What did you do there?’

  ‘I was the upstairs maid. Well, that’s what they called it, even though there was no downstairs maid at the time, just me. Most of the work was making the beds, setting fires in the rooms and so on. Mrs Veasey would keep the kitchen tidy and the butler would look after the dining room and morning room, apart from lighting the fire and sweeping.’

  ‘And this was before Marion Clark took over as maid? Before Tom Barleigh became confined to his wheelchair?’

  ‘That’s right, Inspector.’

  ‘Why did you leave, Alice?’

  Her cheeks reddened, and she turned to look out of the window.

  ‘Why do you need to know? You don’t suspect I had anything to do with this horrible affair, do you?’

  ‘No, not at all, Alice, put that out of your mind right away. I’m simply trying to build up a picture of the house and the family. Your mother seemed to think you might be able to help me do so. You don’t have to say why you left if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it can’t do any harm. Not now. I left because her Ladyship found out her son had been making advances.’

  ‘Tom Barleigh? But wasn’t he engaged?’

  ‘Not at the time, Inspector, but he had been seeing Miss Bamford for quite a while. It wouldn’t have stopped him anyway, he was well known for it before his accident.’

  I sat back in my chair and chose my words with as much care I could.

  ‘So you’re saying you had an affair with Tom Barleigh and Lady Isabelle found out then gave you the sack?’

  ‘No, no, no, Inspector! Not an affair. I never said that! And she didn’t give me the sack, I left of my own accord. I was courting, so I wouldn’t have had anything to do with Mr Barleigh. But he was always making excuses to be in the same room and putting his hand on mine, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Tom Barleigh was a bit of a lady’s man, then?’

  ‘I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, Inspector Given, but he most definitely was.’

  This put a different complexion on the man, one I hadn’t seen before. Could this provide some motive for his death? It was bothering me that, while I was now certain the three deaths had been murders, I couldn’t fathom a reason for them. Even if someone had killed Tom Barleigh as result of his philandering, why would they go on and kill his stepmother and fiancée? At least, for the time being, it might offer another line of enquiry. I underlined Alice’s comment in my notes.

  ‘If, as you suggest, you were able to resist Tom’s advances, why did you leave?’

  ‘It’s as I said, Mr Given — Mr Barleigh was always trying to get me alone in the room with him. One day I was dusting in the morning room and he came in, followed by Mrs Veasey with a pot of tea. After she left I was foolish enough to agree to sit down with him and take a cup. Next thing, he grabs my hand, pulls me over to him and plants a kiss on my cheek. It all happened so fast I couldn’t stop him. I pulled myself away as quickly as I could and saw his eyes widen as he looked over my shoulder. When I twisted round I saw, staring straight through the window at us, his mother. I could tell she’d seen the kiss.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘She just gave me such a look, scared the life out of me. It makes me shake to think it might have been me she’d taken the shotgun to if I’d stayed around!’

  It surprised me Alice hadn’t heard the latest rumours from her mother, or perhaps she had and her earlier experience with Lady Isabelle had made her discount them as meaningless.

  ‘So you left?’

  ‘I did, quick as I could. Frank and I were talking of tying the knot and I wouldn’t have been allowed to stay when we did in any case. Against the rules you know. So I gave in my notice through Mr Jervis and stayed out of the way of Mr Barleigh and his mother afterwards. There was no way I wanted to meet her, not with her temper.’

  ‘She could be
bad tempered then, even before this happened?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mr Given, she was always flying off the handle, even over small things. Mr Jervis came through to the kitchen one evening most distressed because she’d found a speck of dirt on her fork and thrown it across the room at him. Swore and told him he was a useless fool, she did. She often shouted at the staff if everything wasn’t quite right and one time I even heard her screeching at Sir Arthur behind closed doors. Personally, I think she was a little, well, you know ... unhinged. But she’d never have shot Mr Barleigh. He was the only one she didn’t rage at. Even with the little incident in the morning room I’m sure she blamed me and not him.’

  ‘Did you hear what she and her husband were arguing about?’

  ‘You’d hardly not be able to hear it when it was going on. He was always a calm and well-mannered man but this time he let fly back at her. I heard him shout at her he was fed up with the charade and was sorry she’d managed to force him into it.’

  ‘Charade? Is that the word he used?’

  ‘Well, I believe it was. I remember thinking at the time it was a strange word to use. It’s a party game, isn’t it?’

  ‘And what do you think he might have meant by it?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t really know. I thought he meant their marriage. Like he was sorry he’d married her but they were still pretending to the outside world. Everyone in the house knew he couldn’t be happy with a witch like her as his wife. I thought he was a saint myself.’

  Alice became silent, as if she’d realised she had, contrary to her earlier intentions, spoken ill of the dead. She looked around as if expecting someone to have overheard her indiscretion even though we were alone in her mother’s flat.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Given, I shouldn’t be saying such awful things about Lady Isabelle. Nor about Tom Barleigh. I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you and I must be getting back to get Frank’s dinner ready; he’ll be home from work before long.’

  I thanked her for her time and said she’d been very helpful. As I followed her down the stairs and out of Martha’s Tearoom, a doubt began pecking away in my head. Could Isabelle have shot Tom and Jenny after all — was she mad enough?

  Later, when I met with Sawyer to exchange information, he came off the telephone, shaking his head.

  ‘Another blind alley, sir; that woman, Agnes Black, is dead. Committed suicide nine months ago. Must have been soon after she received the letter from Sir Arthur’s solicitor, I imagine.’

  Before he could give me more detail the phone rang again. Gerald Bamford had presented himself at the front desk asking to speak to me. I told Sawyer to go down, take Bamford through to the interview room and stay with him until I arrived.

  Bamford sat bolt upright on the hard wooden chair when I entered, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He was a small man, shorter than me by a few inches, and carrying more pounds than was healthy. His clothes were poor quality, though his shirt collar was clean and well pressed. The single exception to this was his shoes. My mother once told me to always buy good shoes and a good bed, because if you’re not in one you’re in the other. Here was a man who appeared to adhere to this adage and to spend a lot of time on his feet, if his footwear was anything to go by. They also carried a dazzling shine.

  I asked Sawyer to leave us.

  ‘Take yourself back upstairs, constable, and carry on with that filing. I’ll call you down when I need you.’

  Sawyer clearly wanted to stay but did as he was told. It would be easier to draw information from Bamford if I was on my own.

  I quizzed him first about where he’d been and why he hadn’t been in earlier. He gave me a story about working away a lot and only thought about contacting me after being chased through the woods.

  ‘So that was you I was chasing? Why the hell didn’t you stop?’

  ‘I didn’t know you were the police. Anybody could have been charging at me through the undergrowth. It was only later I realised who you might be, but I did know it might look suspicious if I was discovered hanging about Grovestock House.’

  ‘Well, you got that right, it looks extremely suspicious. What were you doing there, exactly?’

  He told me he’d simply wanted to spend time looking at where Jenny had died. He’d had a run-in with Sir Arthur years earlier so wasn’t welcome at the house, even though they’d almost been in-laws. Trudging through the woods and clambering up the wall was the only way he’d get a decent view. Apparently he’d been there about half an hour, watching quietly, when I spotted him. He was adamant this was the only time he’d been there.

  Bamford said that, to his eternal regret, he’d not seen his daughter for about two months, though he’d seen Lady Isabelle more recently.

  ‘I met with her about three weeks before Jenny committed ... before Jenny died.’

  Unsurprisingly, he could barely speak.

  ‘Go on, Mr Bamford, where was this?’

  ‘In a café in Stratford.’

  ‘Had you arranged it, or had she?’

  ‘Oh, it was me, definitely. I’d needed to speak to her face to face. Couldn’t risk her being overheard on the telephone. She was late. She’d always be late when we first met but now one half of me was hoping she wouldn’t come, the other half hoping she’d arrive soon so it would all be over.’

  ‘But she did turn up eventually?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes. She apologised for being late, said she just couldn’t get away without him becoming suspicious.’

  ‘By “him” you mean Sir Arthur Barleigh?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Who else would it be?’

  ‘Now, now, Mr Bamford, don’t get shirty, I was only checking. Carry on.’

  ‘Well, we ordered fresh tea and got down to business. She said she knew I hadn’t arranged to meet just to tell her about my “rather dull life”, as she put it. You know, she smiled sweetly when she said it. She was right though. That’s why I didn’t get annoyed, I suppose. My life is boring. I travel up and down the country, knocking on people’s doors, trying to sell them shoe brushes and the like from an old suitcase. Different town every week, different rooms every night. Fifty different lodgings every year and only home at weekends. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always enjoyed my work and made a decent living but it’s hardly like being a fighter pilot, is it? Jenny’s mother, Barbara, stuck it as long as she could but it was inevitable she’d get fed up and find someone else. At least she waited until Jenny left school and was old enough to understand what was happening. Living in Australia now, she is. Very happy by all accounts.’

  I listened to his assessment of himself and couldn’t help feeling sorry for the chap. An ordinary working man, trying to earn a few shillings to keep his family together but despised by his wife. And now he’d lost his daughter as well. However, I shook away these feelings of pity as quickly as they’d come. This was an interview about three murders and no place for sentiment.

  ‘Let’s get back to your conversation, Mr Bamford.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I told her the wedding would have to be cancelled. I was quite calm and ... assertive about it too — not like me. I wish I’d been as assertive years before, when we met more often and when she’d made unreasonable demands.’

  ‘Demands?’

  ‘Oh yes, Inspector. Isabelle was a very spoilt young lady; she could twist men round her little finger. She’d say “Take me here, take me there, buy me this, buy me that”, constantly, and we’d all jump to be first in line to give her what she wanted.’

  This was a side of her Ladyship I hadn’t picked up before.

  ‘Why would they call the wedding off?’

  ‘Ah, Inspector, that’s the big question, isn’t it? First I’ll need to give you a bit more of the background so you can make sense of it.’

  Bamford had quickly turned into a man in control. He sat back in his chair with his features relaxed and now I saw the hint of a smile, something of the salesman in him. I was intrigued to witnes
s the two sides of his character in so short a space of time and made a mental note to be careful of which face to believe.

  ‘No rush, Gerald. You don’t mind if I call you Gerald, do you?’ I didn’t wait for his reply. ‘Good. We’ve got all day if you need it. Neither of us is going anywhere until this is all explained. So, go on. What was her reaction to what you’d said?’

  ‘Well, first off, she laughed and asked the same question as you, saying: “They’re so happy, at least he is, and that’s all that matters to me.” I told her she was being selfish and Jenny didn’t want to be tied to a cripple in a wheelchair. Isabelle hit back by saying Jenny was a stupid girl and should have moved on ages ago but now she’d made her bed and would have to lie on it. I knew then I’d have no alternative but to tell her the truth and be damned with the consequences.’

  ‘So it was you who persuaded Isabelle the wedding should be called off?’

  ‘I did, more or less, and I did it for both of them. The stuff about Jenny not wanting to be tied to Tom was nonsense, really. Certainly she wasn’t happy but she had a real sense of duty and felt she owed it to Tom for putting him in the wheelchair in the first place. I just said it, hoping Isabelle would see sense and take Jenny’s side.’

  ‘You’d better fill me in with more of the background, Gerald, I’m getting lost here. Why would splitting up the marriage be of benefit to both Tom and Jenny? Jenny, I can understand, but Tom?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Inspector, but we’ll have to go back a good few years so bear with me.’

  ‘As I said, we’ve got all day.’

  ‘Fine. Tom isn’t Isabelle’s son.’

  ‘I know that. I understand she always treated him as if he was.’

  ‘From what I know she loved him better than if he’d been her own. She idolised him and never had a cross word.’

  Here, again, Bamford was confirming what others had indicated. Nothing would have induced Lady Isabelle Barleigh to kill her son.

  ‘You have to understand something about Isabelle. If you think she was attractive, Inspector, you should have seen her in her younger days. She was like a film star. Isabelle could have had any man in the county she wanted and did have a good few of them before she married. Including me.’