‘I’m going upstairs,’ Maltravers said to Tess. ‘That’s where it will be.’
In such a small house, it took him only moments to find the main bedroom and he went to the wardrobe in the corner, pausing a long moment before the impassive door, certain now beyond all disbelief that he was right. He stiffened himself, then took hold of the handle and pulled the door open.
Inside was the skeleton of Tom Bostock, Dunford’s Vincent’s tie grotesquely knotted beneath the scoffing skull. Pushing down his revulsion, Maltravers leaned forward and peered at the grey, scabrous teeth and saw a slight smear of pink on two of them.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ he murmured as tears of pity pricked his eyes. He was the third person to see that corruption and, at whatever risk to himself, he wanted to be the last.
The problem was, how could that be accomplished? He closed the wardrobe door again, frantically going over a scheme, certainly illegal but just possibly feasible, when he heard a key in the front door below him. He dashed down and reached the bottom of the stairs in the corner of the room as Alister York stepped awkwardly into the house. Tess leapt to her feet and stood protectively in front of Joanna, eyes blazing.
‘You are the most evil man I have ever met in my life.’ Her voice was quiet with icy fury. ‘You are disgusting! They taught me how to kill people on that course and if you go anywhere near this girl, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
‘Tess,’ Maltravers said warningly and her face was bitter as she turned to him. ‘Just take Joanna up the hill. I’ll handle this.’
Tess softened again as she put her arm round Joanna’s shoulders and helped her to her feet. Then she led her out of the house, placing herself between the woman and her husband. York looked at them both contemptuously, then stepped aside to let them pass, closing the door behind them with his good arm.
‘I expect you’ve called the police,’ he said to Maltravers.
‘No.’ Maltravers stepped off the final stair. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Well there’s nothing I wish to discuss with you.’
‘Oh I think there is,’ said Maltravers. ‘Just think for a moment. We could have rung the police as soon as Tess got back from the park and laid a charge of attempted murder against you. Hasn’t it occurred to you to wonder why we came here instead?’
York regarded him suspiciously. Finding Maltravers and Tess in his own house—where he had painfully made his way because there was nowhere else to go—had surprised him. After getting away with so much, he knew he had made a critical mistake. He had assumed he would find the police waiting for him, not Maltravers and the woman he had tried to kill. He sensed that something was being offered to him.
‘Then why did you?’ he asked guardedly.
‘Just sit down for a minute,’ said Maltravers. ‘I still don’t believe what I now know and I’d like to check my thoughts with you. Then we might have something to talk about.’
Weary with pain, York took a chair next to the door and Maltravers went across the room and looked upwards through the window at the first storey of the Darbys’ house on the other side of the street.
‘When you found Simon’s body over there—incidentally, I know you didn’t kill him, even though I’m positive you meant to—you took his tie off. You then wrapped it round the other cricket ball that was still on the desk and threw it straight across the road through this window. Simple enough for a cricketer of your ability. Later you had one of the estate workers repair the window and said it had been broken by vandals. Right?’ York made no reply.
‘That explains the odd loose ends about the murder,’ Maltravers continued. ‘Luke Norman had taken the ball he used to kill Simon with him and threw it away in the park—the police have it now but that’s irrelevant. The question is, why would you do such a thing? And I worked that out this afternoon from something I remembered saying to Tess about the butler in the Pembury chapel. The skeleton in the cupboard.’
‘While you’re getting to the point, I’d like a drink,’ York interrupted. ‘It’s in the cabinet over there. Whisky straight for me and you may as well help yourself.’
Maltravers poured the drinks, disinterested in the intellectual satisfaction of unravelling something so awful. He still had his back to York when he spoke again.
‘Not many people know the weird story of the woman who had a son in India, do they?’ He turned to York with the glasses in his hand and passed him the whisky. ‘It’s very fragmentary, but basically she received a letter from him asking her to find someone to make him six shirts for some unknown reason. He added that whoever did it must be someone without any cares in the world. The mother was understandably mystified, but did as he asked and eventually found a woman who seemed perfect. But when she went to see her, the woman took her upstairs and showed her a human skeleton in a cupboard. It was her former lover…and her husband made her kiss it every night.’
Maltravers glanced upwards as he continued. ‘The mother wrote back to her son with this news and he replied that he had been convinced that everyone in the world had their troubles—his that he was to be hanged. His letter ended, ‘Mother, mother, there is a skeleton in every cupboard!’’
Maltravers took a sip of his gin and looked at York with something like sympathy.
‘I can’t remember meeting anybody else before who knows the story behind the old saying. And, dear God, you must be the only person who would act it out again.’
York looked away from him.
‘And I’ve just thought of something else,’ Maltravers went on. ‘Let me think it through…You were out to an untypically bad stroke in the cricket match weren’t you? You knew Dunford would stay at the wicket…giving you time to go back to the house to steal his tie or something like it prior to killing him. You wanted to really ram it home to your wife who that skeleton represented. That little girl said she had seen a ghost in the family quarters, and to small children a ghost is something white…like a man in cricket flannels. Am I right there as well? Oh, forget it, it doesn’t matter. Nobody in their right minds would believe a word of it anyway. Stealing Tom Bostock’s skeleton was no problem for someone like you who worked in the house. But you had to do it quickly because of the plans to bury him.’
‘When you said you wanted to talk, I didn’t realise you just wanted to demonstrate your cleverness,’ York said sarcastically. ‘I can’t see why I should be subjected to your self-satisfaction but, if it pleases your conceit, you’re quite correct. Now you’ll be able to impress everyone with your remarkable intelligence, won’t you?’
‘No,’ said Maltravers. ‘I just wanted to make sure I’d got it right—conceit if you wish—but I don’t want to tell anybody else about this. I want to offer you something instead.’
‘There’s nothing I want from you,’ York replied curtly.
‘What about freedom? And avoiding the contempt people will have for you if it all comes out? Doesn’t that matter?’
‘Does it matter to you?’
‘In your case, no,’ Maltravers told him bluntly. ‘In your wife’s case, a great deal. Listen. Your attempt to murder Tess will not be reported to the police if you agree to leave Joanna and never—and I mean never—see her again. You’ve had your vengeance, now let her go. That’s between you and your conscience, but wouldn’t you prefer that your family and friends never knew about it?’
Maltravers noticed York’s eyes flash past him at something in the other corner of the room. He turned and looked but could see nothing that seemed significant. On the wall was a framed photograph of York’s father who he knew would eradicate his son from his life if he ever learned what had happened. Correct, strong and mercilessly unforgiving, he would accept as normal that his son had dominated his wife; that he had broken the law and brought disgrace upon himself would be contemptible. Irreparably scarred by his father’s treatment and conditioning of him, York could not bear the thought that having grown to admire him—even perversely to love him—he mig
ht lose him.
‘What about…?’ He gestured with his glass towards the upstairs of the house.
‘That’s my part of the deal,’ said Maltravers. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll be very careful. I don’t want the police asking me difficult questions.’
York was silent again, absorbing all that Maltravers had said, recognising the escape route it offered him.
‘Don’t expect any thanks,’ he said finally. ‘I find your sort pitiful. You’re weak, filled with ludicrous kindness. Too many people think that kindness is important. It’s not. I will accept your offer, but don’t delude yourself that my conscience will trouble me. What I did was right, although you will never be able to understand that.’
‘Let’s face it, you and I may as well be from different planets,’ said Maltravers. ‘You find me pitiful, I think you’re an obscenity. But sod all that. I’m doing this for your wife. If I could find a way of protecting her and dragging you through hell at the same time, I’d happily take it. Let’s just hope for both our sakes that you and I never have anything to do with each other again.’
The two men stared at each other for a moment, then both turned away, each with disgust, but one with a certain sorrow.
12
Alone in the house, Maltravers contemplated the bizarre, incredible and potentially disastrous situation in which he had placed himself. A few minutes earlier York had left for the hospital in a taxi to have his arm attended to, Tess and Joanna were at the Penroses, Maltravers was left to deal with the remains of a dead highwayman, twice abused for human hatred. He could conjure up in his mind the strange image of the fourth Earl of Pembury keeping his secret appointment year by year, candle-cast shadows on the cellar wall as he raised his glass in a cruel and mocking toast; history gave that some sort of grotesque perspective. What he could not conceive was the picture of what had been happening in the past couple of days, a young, pretty and vulnerable woman pressing her lips against a skull’s rictus smile, warm and living flesh on dead bone.
He shuddered and went back upstairs, forcing control into himself like someone steeling their stomach to clear up vomit. The sight of Dunford’s tie again made him retch momentarily, then he carefully removed it and placed it in his pocket. In the bathroom airing cupboard he found a sheet and spread it out on the bedroom floor, then, using his handkerchief to avoid leaving fingerprints, he lifted the skeleton off the hook from which it was suspended and laid it in the centre of the sheet, pulling the corners together to form a rough sack.
He peered cautiously out of the front door before leaving the house. Two women were standing talking towards the bottom of Bellringer Street, but otherwise there was nobody in sight. As he walked swiftly up the hill, the constant clicking from the bundle he was carrying sounded frighteningly distinct and he could only hope that anyone who saw him from a distance would assume he was carrying a bag of washing back from the launderette in the square; certainly no one would imagine the truth.
‘Is that you Gus?’ Tess’s voice from the dining room as he entered the house sounded relieved. ‘We’re in here.’
‘Just a minute,’ he called back then went upstairs and pushed the clattering bones of Tom Bostock under their bed. When he went down again, Joanna York was looking more composed, although the dried tears which had smeared her make-up across her face made her look like a melting and helpless wax doll. He sat down next to her and took hold of her hand encouragingly.
‘It’s all right,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve talked to him and he’s agreed to certain things…No, just listen to me.’
Small frowns flickered across her face like a bewildered child listening to the explanation of something very difficult as Maltravers told her the agreement he had made with York.
‘But that’s not right,’ she protested when he had finished. ‘Tess has told me that he tried to kill her and…what he did to me. You’re letting him get away with it. You mustn’t.’
‘Yes we must,’ Maltravers contradicted. ‘Joanna, if all this comes out and Alister is punished, what will happen to you? Every newspaper in the country will run this story, everybody will pity you, but a lot will despise you. Isn’t it worth him getting away with it to stop that happening?’
Joanna looked at him like someone drowning staring at a lifeline thrown from nowhere. ‘But how can…? It would mean…You can’t do it, it’s too dangerous for you.’
‘Not that dangerous.’ Maltravers leaned forward, reinforcing what he was saying. ‘And we will make you a promise. Tess and I will never tell anyone what has happened.’
They both watched her carefully through a very long silence. Battered with torment, unbalanced by the relief of rescue, she was shakily trying to find some stability. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and deliberate as she appeared slowly to accept.
‘I hear what you’re saying to me and I think I understand it. I’m sorry, but I can’t cope with it all at the moment.’ She breathed in very deeply and straightened up in the chair. ‘I’ll try. I owe you both that.’
‘Good girl,’ said Maltravers. ‘First of all, is there anywhere you can go?’
‘My parents.’ Joanna York spoke with growing reassurance. ‘They never liked Alister and will accept that I’ve left him.’
‘Where do they live?’ Maltravers asked.
‘Ramshill…it’s about twenty miles away, but I don’t drive.’
‘We’ll take you,’ said Maltravers. ‘You’ll need some things but you’re not going back into that house, even while your husband is away at the hospital. Tell Tess where to find them and she’ll—’ He suddenly stopped and looked guilty. ‘Christ, I closed the door behind me! And you’ve not got your handbag. How do we get back in?’
Joanna York reached up to the neckline of her dress and pulled out a slender chain with a key dangling from it.
‘Mummy made me do this when I was little,’ she said. ‘I still do it in case I forget.’
She spoke as if the habit was perfectly normal, but Maltravers and Tess were shaken to see the little girl who lived in the woman’s body, the child who had cried in the terror of the night.
‘My make-up’s upstairs,’ Tess said, standing up. ‘You can fix your face while I collect what you want.’
The offer caught Maltravers unawares and he was unable to stop Tess taking Joanna to the room where he had hidden the skeleton, but reassured himself that it would not be visible. She had never asked about it and was probably trying to remove it from her memory. He heard Tess leave the house and when she returned about twenty minutes later he was still in the front room looking out at the church.
‘You do realise what we’ve got ourselves into, don’t you?’ she asked, putting Joanna’s case down by the door.
‘Just about.’ He turned and faced her. ‘But I imagine we’ll survive and I’m bloody sure Joanna won’t if it all comes out. We’re the only chance she’s got…so that’s all right, isn’t it Best Beloved?’
‘Oh, yes, it’s just so furiously insane that I’m still coming to terms with it. What did you do with that damned skeleton?’
‘Well, purely as a temporary measure…’ Maltravers stopped as Joanna came back, the ravages across her face at least cosmetically masked. He smiled at her. ‘You look better already. Let’s get you home.’
Joanna remained silent in the back of the car during the journey and neither Tess nor Maltravers could think of anything to say. They drew up outside the house and Tess turned round in her seat as Maltravers went to take the suitcase out of the boot. She handed the girl a piece of paper:
‘My address and phone number,’ she said. ‘Call me whenever you want, particularly when the blue meanies strike. God made shoulders for crying on.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Joanna, taking the paper and folding it in her hands. ‘I can understand why he wanted to kill Simon, he thought there had been something between us. He was wrong, but he’s so possessive he really would have done it. Thank you for assuring me he didn’
t, that helps. I don’t know what to think about the last couple of nights except that he must be mad in some way. He had a very strange childhood and has some funny ideas. What I can’t forgive him for is that he tried to kill you when all you had tried to do was help me. That was dreadful.’
‘Forget it, because it doesn’t matter,’ Tess told her. ‘I’m not bone china and I looked after myself. What matters is you picking up the pieces again. Don’t let him win.’
Tess paused, uncertain about raising something she could not understand and wanted to know.
‘Why did you marry him?’ she asked gently.
Joanna looked surprised. ‘Why? Because I loved him. I loved him very much indeed. Why else should I have married him?’
‘Sorry,’ Tess said apologetically. ‘Stupid question.’
Joanna got out of the car and Maltravers handed her the case. ‘I can’t think of anything to say to you,’ she said. ‘I’m too confused. But I know you’re taking an enormous risk to help me. I’m just so scared that I might let you down.’
‘I don’t think you will,’ he told her. ‘After all, you never let Alister down and he didn’t deserve that. I hope you think we do.’
As he watched the slender figure walk away from him up the garden path, he felt it had been a thought worth planting. The problems he would have with the police if she cracked and blurted it all out to her parents were irrelevant; the danger to her self-respect, perhaps even her sanity mattered much more. He climbed back into the car and they drove away without speaking. After a few minutes, Maltravers turned on the radio.
‘…Emburey seven not out. England won by one wicket. After the match, the England captain Mike Gatting spoke to…’
Maltravers leaned forward and switched the set off. ‘Funny, that seemed important earlier this afternoon. Strange how life goes on in the middle of everyone’s crises.’
*
The Casebook of Augustus Maltravers Page 36