Before Belinda could voice her startled reply Hazel continued.
‘I know this is a surprise to you and you will probably need time to think it over.’ She handed Belinda her bright red business card. ‘Give me a call when you have had the opportunity to give it some thought.’
The toot of the taxicab outside alerted them to its arrival, and Belinda escorted Hazel out the back door so that she could avoid the mud.
At the gate Hazel stopped and turned to her.
‘Give it serious thought. The house,’ and her eyes flicked in the direction of the garden, ‘and the restored garden will prove profitable in more ways than one.’ She hesitated, opened her mouth to say something else but appeared to think better of it. She patted Belinda on her arm and stepped into the taxi.
Belinda, still stunned by the proposition, shut the back door and walked slowly through the house to the front terrace.
Beyond, the chaotic garden stretched before her, dank, grey and unattractive.
Why had Hazel mentioned the garden? Was it of more importance to her than the house?
Or was Hazel’s business proposal simply a screen to camouflage a more covert and sinister interest?
Belinda polished the dark wood until she could see her reflection. She had begun house-cleaning two days a week, and was just finishing the house of Mrs Mainwaring, a rather officious woman who ran a small publishing firm in Bath.
Her thoughts while she worked were occupied, as they had been for the last few weeks, with the mystery surrounding her aunt’s death. Try as she might she could not wipe from her mind the image of her aunt’s face frozen in death and the puzzle of the half-written and abandoned letters. An air of caution had replaced her initial enthusiasm for the cottage and the village. In addition, she could not shake off the sensation that she was being watched.
‘But by whom and for what purpose?’ she asked herself.
The shrill ring of the telephone made her jump and the tin of polish went skidding across the newly glossed tabletop. With her heart thumping unreasonably in her ribs Belinda picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’ she said tentatively.
There was the sound of someone fumbling with the phone at the other end and Rosemary’s agitated voice came on the line.
‘Belinda? Is that you? Sorry to ring you there, but I need to speak to you urgently. I thought I’d catch you before you left.’
‘Well, you did,’ laughed Belinda, ‘but what’s the matter? You sound odd.’
There was a slight pause before Rosemary replied.
‘I’ve got something to tell you – show you actually.’ Her voice faded away and Belinda heard her muttering to herself.
‘Look, Rosemary. I’m just about finished here and then I’m heading home. Why not meet me there. Is Jacob still working in the garden?’
‘No, he’s gone over to Westbury to do a job … oh, dear … this is …’
Rosemary’s thin voice trailed off. Belinda gave an exasperated sigh.
‘OK then, if I’m late, the key is under the red potplant on the terrace. We can discuss it over a cup of tea.’
‘Tea,’ replied Rosemary distractedly, ‘yes, I suppose so. You won’t be long though, will you? It’s just that, oh dear, this is so awkward, so embarrassing.’
‘Rosemary, I’ll be home in half an hour. If you’re that upset, go in and make yourself a cup of tea. Now I’m going to hang up. See you shortly.’
Belinda had decided to keep the bicycle for the time being in preference to a car, mainly because she enjoyed the exercise and she didn’t really need other means of transport at the moment.
As she cycled home along the country lane in the fading afternoon light her thoughts turned to Jacob and his excitement at showing her the Capability Brown landscape the following weekend.
Belinda had not revealed her discovery of the old plan for a garden design. Why this should be she couldn’t really explain, but an instinct had cautioned her about revealing its presence to Jacob. And she remembered Mark’s reaction when she had described it to him. She shivered, partly from the approaching night air and partly from apprehension as she wondered just what the significance of the landscape design map was.
Rosemary let herself into Belinda’s cottage and stepped tentatively into the hall, her breathing sounding ephemeral and hollow in the empty house.
She knew, of course, that Belinda would not be home for at least another half-hour but she would have welcomed a comforting reception. She went to the back of the house, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. The light was fading fast and a menacing gloom filled the rooms.
‘Oh, hurry up, Belinda,’ she whispered and half ran into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and lit the gas, muttering strange half-sentences to herself. As she leant against the sink to await the boiling water she drew from her apron pocket a small wad of folded paper. It shook in her trembling fingers.
A sudden sound in the hall made her jump violently.
Her eyes flew to the kitchen door, where a faint shadow flitted across the passageway wall.
Her eyes widening with fright, she attempted to call out but all that emerged from her parched throat was a dull croak.
The house sank back into silence. Swallowing dryly, her heart pounding in her ears, Rosemary eased herself around behind the large kitchen table.
The distinct sound of a footstep on the bare wooden floor sent a shiver of dread through her.
Her instinct was to flee.
But where?
The only door in the kitchen led to the back hall where the intruder was established.
As a moth to a flame, Rosemary passed the stove and stood at the threshold of the door. Her chest tight with alarm, she leant forward and peered into the hall.
Something dark and malevolent cleaved the air above her and a shock of red fire exploded in her head.
Like a marionette suddenly freed from its strings, she collapsed backwards onto the stove, her eyes hardening in recognition of her assailant.
That image, held in her retina, was the last she registered in this life.
***
Ten
Belinda stood beside the open grave. It was the second time in a few weeks that she found herself in the small churchyard.
From the graveside, if she turned her head, she could see the freshly turned soil that covered the grave of her great-aunt Jane and glimpse the decaying flowers that had expressed her sympathy at that funeral.
Opposite her, Jacob stood, head bowed, shoulders hunched against the biting wind. He had barely glanced at Belinda and when he did his pale complexion and haggard expression shocked her. It was as though he had withdrawn into a world of his own.
The voice of the Vicar droned on in Belinda’s ears as he intoned the prayers for the dead. A movement behind the ancient tombstones caught Belinda’s eye and she saw Inspector Jordan quietly take his place with the village mourners. He looked directly at her and Belinda found herself blushing in an irrational feeling of guilt. What had she to be guilty about? She shivered, not so much from the icy breeze, but the recollection of the nightmare situation she had found herself in.
Cycling back from Mrs Mainwaring’s that late afternoon, there had been a loud bang and the front tyre collapsed into a flaccid skin around the wheel. Cursing her bad luck, Belinda dismounted and began the long trudge home. She hadn’t realised just how hilly the route was and, as the sun sank behind the horizon and the dusky shadows began to fill the country lane, her silent curses increased and she wiped the perspiration from her brow.
Her limbs were aching now, not only from the housework but the interminable tramping up and down hill and dale. Her only thought was to sink into a relaxing bath and wash away the dirt and frustrations of the day. Then the realisation that Rosemary was waiting for her increased her irritation.
‘She’ll babble on about some petty little village gossip, and drive me mad. Why didn’t I tell her I wasn’t interested?’
As
Belinda drew close to the cottage she saw that there was no light at the window, and hope rose in her breast that Rosemary had tired of waiting and gone home. Feeling a little more cheerful, she wheeled the lifeless bicycle onto the terrace and turned to the front door.
‘Well, of all the nerve,’ she muttered. ‘She’s just gone off and left the door wide open.’
Resentment spurred her forward and she marched determinedly into the hall.
It wasn’t until she reached the door to the kitchen that she sensed the eerie silence that enveloped the house. Suddenly the old fears returned and with a feeling of apprehension she stepped into the kitchen.
The evening gloom reduced the room to a murky hollow, and she hurried to turn on the light.
As the illumination flooded the kitchen, it seemed that everything was normal and that Rosemary had simply been waiting for her and had not thought to switch on the light. She stood by the stove, staring at a point above Belinda, as though about to greet a friend.
Looking back on it, Belinda realised that her next actions were automatic, totally detached from the reality of the situation. It was the lack of blood that was surprising, and Rosemary’s expression almost welcoming.
The ice pick projecting from her skull. That was the only incongruous element.
Feeling that she was in a dream, Belinda looked down at Rosemary’s hand. Clutched tightly between her thumb and forefinger was a small triangular piece of paper. Belinda reached down and withdrew the scrap of yellowing parchment.
In the cold glare of the kitchen light she read the single word etched in faded ink, and spoke the solitary name.
‘Michelangelo.’
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’
The fragile voice of the minister and the thud of earth on the coffin drew Belinda back to the churchyard and the undeniable reality. She raised her eyes to Inspector Jordan, who returned her look with a questioning stare.
Suddenly Belinda felt herself falling, falling, falling into the embracing darkness.
Inspector Jordan leapt forward and caught her in his arms.
The white walls of the hospital and the sterility of the ward seemed oddly comforting to Belinda. Diagnosed as suffering from shock, she had been hospitalised and now, three days later, had just been advised by the doctor that she could go home. Her only visitor in the three days had been Inspector Jordan.
‘Feeling better?’
Belinda suspected that he didn’t care one way or the other.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Shock. It was delayed shock, or so the doctor says.’
‘Don’t you believe him?’
‘If he says that was the cause, then I must believe him.’
‘Inspector, I walked into my kitchen and found my neighbour dead, with an ice pick in her brain. Is it any wonder I’m suffering from shock?’
Jordan nodded. ‘Perfectly understandable. If that is what happened.’
‘What do you mean? Of course it’s what happened. I came home from work and –’
‘That’s what I want you to tell me about,’ interrupted Jordan. Belinda sighed in frustration. The man was an idiot.
‘Inspector,’ she began patiently, ‘I told you everything that happened when you interviewed me after I found Rosemary’s body. What else can I tell you?’
‘I’d like you to go over it once again. There may be something that you have forgotten, or something else that will come to mind.’
Belinda felt like ringing for the doctor and telling him to send the Inspector packing. What else could she tell him, that she hadn’t already told?
‘All right,’ she sighed, ‘as I told you, I was coming home from work –’
‘What work?’
‘Cleaning. For Mrs Mainwaring. I left her house –’
‘She says that she can’t vouch that you were at her house during the time you claim.’
‘Of course not. She was at work. The house was empty. I left there about four o’clock or so and started home.’
Jordan flicked open a notebook and glanced at it.
‘But you told me that you didn’t discover the body until six o’clock or thereabouts. What took you so long to get home?’
‘If you look in your notes,’ replied Belinda sharply, ‘you will see that I had a puncture and had to walk home. It is some distance from Bath to the village and –’
‘But weren’t you in a hurry to get home?’
‘Only to soak in a hot bath.’
‘I thought you said that your neighbour had something to tell you?’ Jordan tapped his notebook. ‘That’s what you said.’
Belinda felt as though she was talking to a brick wall.
‘Inspector, Rosemary was a great gossip. Yes, she did ring me and say she had something to tell me, but the only reason I was anxious to get home was to rest from a hard day’s work. Rosemary’s gossip wasn’t important to me.’
‘But it was important enough for her to ring you at your place of work? Surely if it was just idle gossip, she would have waited until you were home and chatted over the garden fence.’
Belinda realised what the Inspector said was true. What was it that Rosemary had discovered? With a rush, Belinda recalled the scrap of paper she had drawn from Rosemary’s dead hand.
‘Michelangelo,’ she muttered to herself.
‘What was that?’ demanded Jordan, his eyes searching hers. Belinda glanced away.
‘Nothing. A relative … someone I should tell about my aunt’s death.’ Jordan looked at her disbelievingly.
‘What did you do after you found the body?’
‘I went to one of the houses in the village and called the police. You know that.’
‘Why didn’t you go and tell the brother, Jacob? His house was nearest and he had a telephone.’
‘He was in Westbury quoting on a job. I knew he wasn’t home.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Rosemary. When she telephoned me at work. Inspector, please. I’ve told you everything.’ Belinda was beginning to feel weary.
‘But you didn’t tell the police when your house had been broken into.’
‘Well, I didn’t think it was that important then.’
‘It didn’t enter your head that it was connected with your aunt’s death?’
Belinda looked at Jordan in amazement. ‘But you said her death was an accident.’
‘Well … I’m not saying it wasn’t,’ Jordan replied grudgingly, ‘it’s just that a break-in such as you had should have been reported at the time. Especially after there’s been a death … or a murder. Stands to reason.’ Jordan paused and looked thoughtfully at Belinda. ‘What do you think they were after?’
Belinda thought of the garden plan secure in the hiding place where she had put it. It would be safe there for the time being. She hoped.
‘No idea,’ she replied blandly.
Jordan’s face said that he was not convinced. He closed his notebook. ‘There’s nothing else that you can remember? Nothing else that happened that may …’
‘Nothing. I’ve told you exactly what happened. Everything.’
‘Except for one thing,’ Jordan said quietly.
Belinda looked questioningly at him. ‘What’s that?’
‘Why someone would want to kill you.’
Belinda stared at him in disbelief.
‘Kill me?’
The Inspector nodded.
‘Your neighbour was there by chance. Whoever killed her was waiting for you. Make no mistake, someone wanted you dead.’
The strong perfume of violets drew Belinda back from her recollection of the Inspector’s shocking declaration. A sudden awareness that someone was advancing towards her made her open her eyes and she saw Mark at her bedside.
‘Feeling better?’ he asked, thrusting the violets into her hand.
‘Much better, thanks. I can go home tomorrow.’
Mark stood a little awkwardly by the bed. ‘If you like, I can drive you home. T
hat is if you want to go back to the house.’
‘Where else would I go?’
Mark shrugged. ‘I just thought that after what had happened you might prefer to stay elsewhere. I could find you a place if you like.’
‘That’s kind of you, but no. I’ll be fine.’ Belinda gave him a confident smile. ‘And I don’t believe in ghosts.’
‘It wasn’t ghosts I was thinking of.’
‘Mark, I know what you’re thinking, but believe me I am not scared.’
‘But finding the body like that, surely …’
‘It was horrible,’ Belinda interrupted, ‘but I can’t let that stop me from living. And living in my own house.’
Mark stood and walked to the window. He watched an ambulance draw up and a new patient dispatched into the emergency ward.
‘Has it occurred to you that someone wants you out of the cottage?’
Belinda thought of the Inspector’s warning that someone had tried to kill her.
‘After all,’ Mark continued, ‘it was murder.’
‘Yes,’ said Belinda thoughtfully, ‘but not premeditated.’
‘Are you sure of that?’
Mark turned to look at her. Belinda met his eye but did not reply immediately. She fiddled with the bunch of violets.
‘Oh, Mark, who would want to kill poor bumbling Rosemary?’
‘My point exactly.’
Mark sat on the edge of the bed. Belinda looked away from him. She wished he would change the subject.
‘I’ll take you up on your offer to drive me home tomorrow,’ she said with a cheeriness she did not feel.
Mark stood and rattled his car keys.
‘Just tell me the time, I already know the place, and you’re the girl.’
Belinda smiled gratefully. ‘But on one condition.’
‘What’s that?’
‘On the way, I want to visit Prior Park.’
Brooding mists camouflaged the Palladian house and the land that fell away before it. Around the bridge over the lake the mists intensified but even through this vaporous shroud Belinda could see the beauty of the landscape.
Capable of Murder Page 11